


If I die Tonight Part 1: A Cerulean Sky

by Linaumi



Series: Shelved Works [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Historical, Historical Hetalia, Other, old project, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 33,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27018790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linaumi/pseuds/Linaumi
Summary: A very long fanfiction that's been collecting dust. It's not finished, but I remember putting a lot of work into it so thank you for taking the time to read.
Series: Shelved Works [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971898
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

If I Die Tonight Part I

A Cerulean Sky

“I guess this is it.” The young nation sat on the sopping wet ground. His blue coat was stained with red as the thick liquid ran down his dominant arm. The rain poured to earth, blurring his vision but he didn’t need to see clearly, he knew the person pointing the rifle at him very well.

“I suppose you’re going to shoot me, England?” America’s face was serious and although his words themselves sounded lighthearted they had a satirical ring to them. The war was lost the moment it started, America was strong but there was no way he could win against a nation with several centuries’ worth of fighting experience. He had been disarmed within a mere couple seconds.

“America,” England lowered his weapon. He couldn’t help but feel sympathy towards his colony who had grown so big in just a short amount of time. Every time he looked at the young man’s war hardened features, no matter how serious his expression was, he only saw the grinning child of the past. “Your army is starving and they’re running out of supplies, not to mention it’s only half the size it used to be. You can’t fight anymore, you’ve lost,” he continued. There was silence. America knew these factors well; he could _feel_ his peoples’ pain, but he could also feel the way they yearned for freedom. He hung his head in shame, his shoulders shook with such ferocity he had to bite his lip to keep from letting out a cry in front of his enemy. If there was one thing he wasn’t, it was shameful.

“I know.” He croaked at last. The Englishman sighed and knelt down in front of the American, he cupped the teary eyed face into his hand and turned it from side to side. America refused to make eye contact, in fact it took everything in his power to hold back the urge to pull away.

“Look at you America, you’re a bloody mess. Literally.” England ripped a good portion of his red coat and proceeded to tie it around the other’s arm, “This is worse than when you were attacked by a wild boar,” the small talk was ineffective, America’s face stayed as solemn as one of the church’s statues.

“There, that will stop the bleeding.” England stood when he finished his first aid. He dusted off his gloved hands with a muffled clap then offered one to the colony, “Come now, America. I’ll forget what you said about not being my brother anymore so let’s head back to one of my ships and get you properly cleaned, hm?” America couldn’t hold back his rage anymore, he slapped England’s hand away with the force that, due to being such a small state in comparison, the Englishman could never have naturally. He looked up at him with deep blue eyes radiating disdain. Raising himself slowly up into a stand, he towered over the other by at least another foot, perhaps a foot and a half. The smaller nation was shocked and, admittedly, intimidated by the size of his colony, his wide, green eyes met the overpowering blue pair.

“Don’t you get it?” His voice sounded like thunder in the chorus of the storm, “I don’t want your help anymore! I don’t need it!”

“There they are!” A voice with a well pronounced British dialect sounded across the grassy valley. Before either of the pair had realized it, a horde of red coated men fresh from the battle field nearby swarmed the American, forcing him onto his stomach so they could bind his hands. America struggled against the men but was forced into submission when one of the soldiers struck the side of his head with the butt of a rifle.

“Don’t be too harsh on him, men! He’s already admitted defeat.” England protested as he pulled the man with the rifle away. The soldier glared at his country, but out of respect he did no more harm to the young man. Once bound, America was forced to his feet. The side of his head where he had been hit trickled a fine trail of blood that explored his features and managed to pollute his mouth with its bitter taste.

“So I’m you’re prisoner, huh? Where are you taking me, Britain?” he demanded, eyes locking on the other nation.

“America, that’s not…” England’s already quiet voice was cut off by the bolder one of the general.

“We’re taking you to England, _our_ king wishes to see you.” The General glared at the man who represented an army that had taken so many British lives. America smiled wryly when he heard the general’s words and cast his accusing look downwards, breaking defiant eye contact with England.

“I just lost the war and you’re already rubbing it in my face.” He muttered almost to himself. Two of the redcoats took him by either arm and pushed him forward, compelling him into silence. As he passed he refused to look at the victorious nation that claimed to be his brother and instead favored to stare at the ground that his boots imprinted in the soaked earth. The walk back was lengthy. The men around, taught in a strict manner, walked in formation. Every so often they jittered amongst themselves about their victory before they were ordered by a harsh voice back into silence. Despite the air filled with excitement, a looming, cold shadow lingered in the heart of the powerful nation. _He’ll come around,_ England reassured himself, _you would be upset as well if it were you._ His efforts to comfort himself only left him more unsettled, he couldn’t help but remember one of his older brother, Scotland, conquered and defeated. Yes, his eyes looked much like America’s then. England shook his head, his mop of golden hair flung an array of water like a wet dog. Just because his relationship with Scotland is still unpleasant doesn’t mean the same will happen with America, the colony was much more agreeable than the red-head ever was.

~*~*~*~*

“General Kirkland, we’ve arrived.” A voice caught the Englishman by surprise, it had been a while since he’s heard his human name; his virascent eyes fell onto the face of an older officer then shifted to the large battleship that he had boarded in the past.

“Ah, yes, it seems so.” He muttered. The soldiers looked at him expectantly, after scanning their faces he realized they were waiting for him to tell them what to do with the bound colony.

“Put him in the spare room.” England ordered quickly, “And take off those bloody ropes! He’s not going anywhere.” A couple soldiers nodded and shoved the prisoner ahead. England watched until the young man was out of sight before following the other men onto the ship. His boots clunk heavily on the wood deck as he entered his cabin. Most of the crew were forced to sleep below deck in hammocks but, as the embodiment of the nation, he was given special treatment. The door shut behind him and he haphazardly threw his hat onto his bed post, which dripped from the recent storm, prior to plopping down onto his desk chair and running a hand through his wet hair. He leaned back in the seat, resting his arms behind his head, and reflected on the war. After six long years he will have finally put America’s rebellious streak aside. It was apparent to England that the young colony didn’t know what was best for him; he would have to give him a long lecture about the cause and effect of his actions, but, for now, it would be best to make peace.

England pulled himself up out of his seat and swiftly made towards the exit. He was eager to fix his relations with his younger brother and believed now to be as good as a time as ever, although America was cheeky, the older nation was sure he couldn’t be sore forever. His purposeful stride slowed pace as he came closer to the cabin the American was occupying. Once there, he hesitated.

“It’s just America,” he assured himself quietly but just as he raised his hand to knock he heard a loud racket of what he could only presume was a chair being hurdled against the wall, followed by a very loud and clear, “Dammit!” England’s hand dropped to his side and hung like a heavy burden.

“Perhaps I’ll give it another day.” He muttered. Slowly, he turned, his eyes remained fixed on the door until he coerced himself to walk away. He strode with the same rhythm as he did before, and, as a proud nation should, he only allowed himself to glance back once.

~*~*~*~*

“Supper!” the chef called, banging a hard, wooden spoon against a steel pot. Word of the meal traveled quickly, soon the mess hall was bustling with military men. Their voices were enthusiastic for soon they would be arriving home.

“Arthur!” a senior officer called to England who was patiently waiting to receive his meal. “Do you smell that?” the officer took a deep breath, “That’s the smell of fresh English air!” Arthur felt slight contempt at the comfortable use of his first name, but decided to cut the soldier some slack. They had been at the colonies for some time after all, returning home was a signal that he should relax himself.

“Sir Bracken, I believe you are confusing the scent of English air with the delightful aroma of an English meal.” England joked lightheartedly as he was served his dish. The man shook his head and chuckled.

“Aye, the aroma is nice, but I wouldn’t mistake it for the smell of my mother country. That’s home,” He grinned, “Certainly you’re glad to be back as well, Sir Kirkland?” Arthur didn’t reply immediately, he thought of the political meetings he would attend to determine the fate of the colonies. Perhaps relaxing wasn’t quite within his reach.

“We’re not back just yet,” he reminded the other, “But that reminds me, tell Jonathan he doesn’t have to bring Alfred his meal today, I’ll do it myself.”

“Again? Well, suit yourself,” Sir Bracken shrugged, “But he’s still sour about losin’ the war.”

“I’m well aware.” England replied, grabbing an extra plate and heading to America’s cabin.

~*~*~*~*

“America?” the nation knocked gingerly on the door, “I’ve brought supper.” For a moment England anticipated that the door would not open, but to his enjoyment the knob turned and the door slowly came ajar revealing the young colony. Although his wounds had been patched up and since healed, he wore the same blood stained uniform as before and his face was still unsmiling.

“May I come in?” England asked. Without looking him in the eye America nodded slowly, almost unsure of his decision, and stepped aside. “It must be a good day today,” the former commented as he passed the colony, “You answered the door _and_ let me inside.” He set America’s platter down on the desk opposite of the small bed which he sat on. Behind the door there was a pile of wood from what used to be a nice chair until it was used to channel the colony’s temper. The door swung shut. England’s disapproving gaze shifted from the chair to the young man who had taken the plate in his hands and was leaning against the wall as he ate.

“We’ll be arriving to my country shortly,” England stated. The comment was followed by silence except for the occasional sound of munching as the food piled on top of the dish quickly diminished. “Still persisting with the silent treatment I see,” He went on, “Honestly, America, when will you cease to be so childish?” As soon as the words left his lips the plate clattered back onto the table, sending the remaining food into disarray.

“When you give me freedom,” America’s tone was dark and unfamiliar to the British nation.

“America,” England began in a voice just as stern, his hands clasped as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, “All this talk of ‘freedom’ should have been left behind at the colonies.” The two brothers scowled at each other in a heavy silence, both reluctant to back down.

“Tch.” America’s glower shifted to the ground; twice now, he had admitted defeat. England’s expression softened.

“Why don’t you come above deck with me for a bit?” he offered, “Considering how long you’ve been cooped down here, it’s a miracle you haven’t caught cabin fever.” The colony nodded.

“My mind’s been worried about other things,” he muttered, “But some fresh air would do me some good.”

“Other things?” England questioned.

“Like what your people are going to do to mine.” America elaborated. Another silence, though less tense, hung over the pair. England wasn’t sure himself what was going to happen to the American people other than the fact that they’d be discriminated against for sure. After a moment, he stood and headed for the door as if he didn’t hear the statement.

“Let’s head up.” He stated quietly, pulling open the exit.

As soon as a breeze touched his face, America sucked in the sea air. At first the light burned into his poorly adjusted eyes, but once they reestablished balance, he relished in the bright blue sky which he hadn’t seen for seemingly ages. He walked along the deck carefully, observing the other men onboard with a disdainful expression. The men, in return, gave him suspicious glances.

“You’ve brought him up here?” a voice asked quietly, Arthur turned to find none other than the man who had bludgeoned America on the day that seemed so long ago.

“Yes,” the nation answered, “It’s alright, as long as I keep an eye on him.” He added after studying the man’s nervous features. He turned back and watched America with an eye a parent might have for their child. After the colony seemed to have settled against the railing away from most the crew England moved to join him.

“It’s that way, isn’t it?” America asked quietly.

“What is?” England’s thick brows came together in confusion.

“My country.” America explained. England frowned at the use of the word but decided it best not to call him on it.

“Indeed it is,” he studied America’s quizzical features, “it’s common for people like us to be able to, in a sense, feel their land from afar.”

“Oh. I wouldn’t know.” Another silence fell upon the pair, it was harder talking to America than England originally thought it would be.

“Come to think of it, you’ve never travelled this far away from home, have you?” England made an effort to encourage the small talk to continue.

“No.” America answered with a sideways glance at the older nation. His lips were in a straight line but his other features were relaxed, making the expression unreadable and England nervous.

“W-well,” England shifted his body towards the colony, “Do you like it?” The words came out before he could properly think about them, as a result he silently condemned himself for his idiocracy. America’s straight face turned into a frown.

“You mean besides the fact I was forced here against my will, kept in a room, and treated like a criminal by your men?” He said in a slow, steady tone. England felt as if the young man’s blue eyes were somehow boring deep into his own insecurities. America sighed and looked back at the mesmerizing blue-green ocean waves, “Then yeah, besides that, I like it.”

“Oh, is that so?” England managed a feeble smile, allowing his body to relax and once again lean on the rail. The breeze tickled his face and he noted the squawks of the seagulls which signaled that they were close to land.

“Of course,” America’s voice drew his attention back, “I am your brother after all.” Their eyes met, an electric blue pair locking onto the shocked green. England found it impossible to react immediately, America had said it so casually, so suddenly, that it almost felt like a dream. In their silence the sounds around seemed to become louder. The crashes of the waves had a stronger force while the working men’s voices became more defined. Despite America’s unwavering face, England felt his heart swell.

“Ameri-“

“Land ho!” The nation’s voice was lost in a flurry of shouts and the beating of boots against the wooden deck as men rushed to the other side of the ship to catch the first sight of their long missed motherland. The distraction caught England’s attention but was quickly drawn back when America pushed himself into a stand and began walking away with a steady clunk of his own tattered boots.

“America!” England called, taking a few frantic steps forward. The colony turned. “I don’t know how much I can promise,” the older nation bowed his head in a solemn gesture, “But, I’ll do my best for your people! If nothing else, I’ll see to it that they’re treated with respect! After all, your people and mine have the same roots.” England looked up just in time to see America’s wide eyes convert into a grin as bright as the sun. The gorgeous smile that his brother hadn’t worn since the war started; the smile that England saw so often when the colony was a child. He had missed it dearly.

“Alright, Britain, I’m counting on you,” and just like that the American turned his back on his brother. The evening sun cast dark shadows on the tattered revolutionary uniform as he made his way back to his cabin. When the young man was long gone, England looked up at the deep cerulean sky with an overwhelming sense of relief. The war hadn’t cost him the very thing he had fought to keep.

~*~*~*~*

Both the weather and current remained in favor for the next three days. The ship was finally able to dock on the fourth night. Families lined up along the docks awaiting a glimpse of a loved one whom they only hoped had survived the battles. On the ship the higher ranking officers shouted their orders, guiding the military crew to the safety of land. England watched the crew around him, becoming increasingly more anxious to walk upon his own soil. He had periodically visited during the revolution but he was almost always preoccupied with America’s underhanded tricks in the colonies. Honestly, he thought, I didn’t raise him to cheat like that. He subconsciously brought a white gloved hand to his chin, his brows creased as he pondered deeper. What happened? He couldn’t help but question himself; what had he done to make America so desperate to leave? The familiar clunk of footsteps on the hard deck approached him only to stop a few feet away. The Englishman turned to see America, his hands bound and two soldiers on either side of him as an escort. A darkening red mark on the side of his face suggested that he had protested to being bound. England fully turned to face the three in a professional manner.

“I don’t suppose you’d tell them to take these off me?” America went to hold out his wrists but the soldiers gave him a warning shove.

“Only speak when you’re spoken to. Rebel scum.” The man was silenced with a raised hand from his nation.

“It is only protocol, America,” England explained. Despite his dignified voice he couldn’t help but stare at the mark on the colony’s face, oh how he would’ve liked to wallop the giver of the bruise; he swallowed and continued, “You are, after all, a captured rebel. That makes you our prisoner.” The American gave him a doubtful look.

“Fine,” The statement had venom behind it, “But what now?”

“Now, we will be escorting you to London. Parliament and the king will meet in only a few days’ time to discuss the fate of the colonies.” England’s eyes glanced up at America’s face. The reality of the situation had caused it to pale and his lips closed together in a defiant line which made his anger evident.

“You better keep your promise.” America’s, otherwise reminder, came out with the force of a threat. The soldiers gave him another shove, this way in the direction of the gangplank which connected to the docks. This time England made no protest as the pair drug away the American, instead he sighed and turned towards the ocean.

“Familial troubles, Sir Kirkland?” a voice of stone pierced through Arthur’s moment of troubled peace.

“Ah, general,” Arthur saluted briefly, “I guess you could say that.” His voice trailed off as his gaze was cast downward, watching the foamy blue waves lop against the side of the boat.

“It must be hard for you nation, to form attachments as strong as family bonds. To be frank, I don’t understand why you would even bother. Surely, you know it will only end in pain?” The general looked quizzically upon his state. Arthur gave a small smile.

“Indeed, as a country fighting is inevitable, and a fight could come from anywhere.” He looked at the general as he spoke, “But, also as a country, I care for the things my people create.”

“Hmph,” The general looked upon Arthur with a face now of contempt, “Blaming your love and attachment to America on the people. I suppose that’s clever.” The sudden change in attitude took the other by surprise.

“What are you suggesting, general? Would you have let the American’s have their way?” He glared up at the taller man with a piercing gaze.

“I am only saying,” the general took a steady tone, “that we spent a lot of pride and destroyed a lot of families for the sake of, ‘responsibility.’ But, I suppose, we kept what we truly wanted in the end.”

“And what would that be?” England questioned sharply.

“The reassertion of this country’s dominance of course.” The general took a few careful footsteps towards the gangplank, “Excuse me if I’ve insulted you, Sir Kirkland. I simply stated my opinion as a citizen of the state.” England watched the general leave then made his way off himself, though he couldn’t get the general’s words out of his head. Dominance? No, he didn’t keep America to dominate him. If that was the peoples’ consensus then perhaps he wasn’t as in tune with his country folk as he thought he was. He walked past the crowd of families and loved ones embracing the soldiers who had just come off duty, and headed straight for the sleek black carriage that had been sent to guide the “prisoner.” The carriage was still being fashioned by a young boy with sandy brown hair and a freckled face when England arrived. Upon approaching, the boy turned.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, “Forgive me, you gave me a fright. Are you, perhaps, Master Arthur Kirkland?” He was probably no more than sixteen, just old enough to leave to a far off place and support his family by working.

“I am,” Arthur replied with a nod then headed for the carriage door, hinting that he did not desire any further communication. The conversation with the general had indeed soured his mood.

“Nice to meet you sir, my name is Sammy.” The boy known as Sammy hurried to open the door for his client, “I’ll be you’re coachman for the trip to the Palace of Westminster.” The young coachman’s big brown eyes looked upon the grumpy nation with an intense admiration.

“I can see that.” The nation closed his eyes as he hoisted himself into the expensive leather seats of the fine carriage, across from America and the two soldiers who had entered earlier. He expected to be on his way but it seemed the boy had one more thing to say, he appeared between Arthur and the door.

“A convoy arrived only a week before you bearing the news. I wanted to congratulate you, sir, on crushing the American rebellion,” Sammy cast a disapproving glance at the prisoner who was slumped against the seat, his wheat hair hung down in clumps to cover his dirty face. “It’s obvious those colonists don’t know what’s good for them. It’s good that they’ll be staying with the motherland, at least then they know they’ll have someone to trade with. Commerce brings wealth, they say.”

“It’s not about the money!” America’s voice pierced through the air. Yet, he did not lift his head.

“America!” England warned sharply. He then turned to Sammy and spoke to him in the same, unwavering tone, “Thank you for your voice, however I believe we should leave immediately. We have a long way to go and only a short time to get there. Now, if you’d please?” he gestured to the front of the carriage.

“Yes sir.” The boy gave a half-bow, the kind that one would give to a person of higher status, then shut the door. There was some shuffling from outside but soon enough the carriage began to make a steady pace to London.

“Would you look at that, England, You’re a hero,” America glared up at his brother from under his matted bangs.

“Oh, will you come off it America?” England snapped, “Can’t you just let it go?”

“Let it go?” America’s head snapped up, the soldiers on either side put their firm hands on his shoulders to keep him from attempting any kind of attack. He bore a grin, not a wide grin full of sunshine but a thin, narrow grin filled with indignation, “Don’t you find it funny how you force me to let go of my own and my peoples’ hopes and dreams just so you don’t have to ‘let go’ of _me_? What a poor guardian you turned out to be, England.” At first, England was taken aback by America’s outburst. But as he gathered his thoughts his lips formed a serious line.

“America, we have been over this before,” his voice was slow and steady, as if speaking to a child, “You have just lost your first real war so I will look past your attitude, but you must realize that there is nothing you can do. What’s done is done. Now, listen to me, we will arrive in London within two days and the first thing we will do is get you a new set of clothes-,”

“I refuse,” America stated boldly before the nation could finish.

“Look at those rags, America, they’re filthy!” England reasoned.

“So what?” America stared on with eyes full of resolve.

“You will be before the king,” England again tried to make his younger brother see sense.

“ _Your_ king,” America spat.

“ _Our_ king,” England corrected. The pair’s deadly stares created a menacing aura inside the quarters. The two soldiers shifted uncomfortable, no doubt wondering how they managed to get stuck with this job. The four sat in an intense silence for some time. Finally, when it became evident that America would not back down England spoke.

“Very well then,” he leaned back in his seat with a heavy sigh, “have it your way, but you will throw out those shabby, old garments at one point or another.”

“Don’t count on it.” The other rebutted venomously, “I will take this uniform to the grave if I must.”

“For God’s sake! It’s just cloth America!” England seethed.

“I could say the same about your flag, should I throw that out as well?” The colony shot back. England’s hand stretched out with the force of rage and struck his younger brother across the face, adding a red mark that matched the bruise on his other cheek. It was the first time England himself had struck his brother in such a way. The force had turned America’s face, but only temporarily, for he turned back with the exact same glare he held before. The strike hadn’t fazed him one bit, perhaps he was used to being hit by now. England heaved a breath and slumped into the cushions as if trying to shrink away. The criminal hand dropped to his side while the other was raised to cover his face from that haunting blue color.

“You already tried that, remember?” he muttered into his glove. There was no reply, and England didn’t expect one. Between his fingers he caught a glimpse of the cloudy English sky. God, he wondered, what is happening to us?

~*~*~*~*

The brothers didn’t say another word to one another for the rest of the trip. At one point it became so taxing for Arthur that he took a liking to sitting beside the coachman instead of suffering the unbearable atmosphere inside. Luckily there was room for two, but Sammy was reluctant to talk to Arthur. He would stay silent and keep his eyes on the roads, not knowing where exactly the boundaries were between them. As time went on Arthur became bored of the boy’s tension and started to tell him stories about his adventures. He told the boy grand tales of the lives of kings and queens as well as the excitement of war. By the end of the second day the two had become well acquainted if not good friends.

They arrived in London on the third afternoon. The gentry roamed about the streets doing their business while the poor begged for any loose change that, hopefully, some kind soul would give. England observed his people with interest. As they traveled further into the city, more peoples’ heads turned. Cheers would erupt and citizens who recognized Arthur as their nation and raised their voices in hopes their congratulations would be heard over the others, old veterans would salute to Arthur respectfully, and men would tip their hats. England waved back at his citizens and smiled but his stomach twisted. The attention, under different circumstances, would be welcomed. He was a hero here, but the very person who resented his heroism was inside the carriage. England could imagine him; dull, blue eyes and dirty face, peering out the window ever so slightly to watch the people celebrate his failure. As they approached the Palace of Westminster the cheering gradually died out and was replaced with the familiar clopping of horses’ hooves.

“It’s enormous!” Sammy exclaimed as he drove the carriage through the palace gates.

“Surely, you’ve seen a palace before,” Arthur replied with a chuckle. The boy flushed.

“Actually, this is my first job that involved the royals and nobility,” He slowed the horses down to a trod, “It was with luck that I managed to even receive the offer. So although I have admired the palaces by far I have never actually been past the gates.” Arthur grinned at the boy and gave him a comforting pat on the back.

“Fate will run its course. I’m glad it was you who were here rather than some stiff.” England grinned at the young coachman.

“I-I’m honored, sir,” Sammy stuttered quietly, his flustered face apparent despite his attempts to hide the bright color. The carriage slowed to a halt at the front steps and the coachman carefully climbed off his seat and opened the carriage door for the occupants. The two soldiers stepped out and, as usual, they drug America behind them. England frowned as he slid off as well, reluctantly approaching the colony.

“America,” he addressed using an official tone to mask his pleading and worry, “Please, could I ask you to take off your uniform?”

“You’re still on about that?” America snapped, not bothering at all to hide his emotions, “Well what about you? You’re still in your military uniform.”

“Mine has been cleaned and made to look presentable.” England absentmindedly straightened the wrinkles on his clothing. He didn’t necessarily look away from the colony as he waited for a reply but rather past him in the distance behind, silently fearing that if he were to look into the young American’s eyes, once so full of joy in excitement, he would only see hate greeting him. 

“I already told you, I refuse.” America stated after a moment of glaring. England glanced over the dried mud stains on the colony’s boots and pants, the bloodstain on his right arm, and the tears in his overcoat. America’s face itself was grimy with dirt; he looked like he hadn’t bathed in months, which was, more so than not, accurate.

“Very well,” England started calmly, “I said I’d let you do as you wish and I will.” He took in a deep breath, almost like a sigh but acting more as a calming technique, then turned to the soldiers, “I’ll be leaving to find my seat now.” He explained, “I believe Sammy knows where you are to take America until they are ready to bring him in.” The Englishman cast a glance in the coachman’s direction which was returned with a confirming nod. Sammy motioned for America and the guards to follow him, and soon the four had entered the palace leaving only England standing by the polished carriage. He peered up at the sky, the sun was already beginning to set, leaving the heavens streaked with colors of golds and striking shades of oranges and lining the clouds with fire burning just as bright as the orb setting itself lower and lower in the sky, but the scenery failed to make him any less uneasy. Never before had he been so unwilling to return to London. The thought of walking into that room of men and deciding the fate of a person he had raised since infancy left his body cold. But it couldn’t be avoided, he tightened his jaw in anticipation and turned towards the large double doors of Westminster*.

The grandiose, marble halls echoed in rhythm with England’s steps. He was virtually alone except for the carefully carved statues that lined up perfectly across from each other on either side of him. He walked until he came upon a finely carved door made of mahogany wood, which he quickly opened and headed forward into the meeting room. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling that could’ve easily been four stories high and came together in a golden arch which shined so brightly they gave the illusion that the chandeliers were just for show. The floor was carpeted with the intelligent squares of blue and silver while lavish seats of red and gold lined opposite sides of the room. It was flooded with nobles and other members of Parliament up to the second balcony. They busily chatted, or so he thought at first, upon closer inspection he realized that the negotiations had already begun and the room was filled with harsh whispers of the future rather than small talk. Directly ahead of England was the golden thrones which sat the king and queen. Before his royal majesties he recognized a man in that damned uniform. Fashioned like his own but made blue to mock him and what he represented. All eyes turned to England as the door fell shut behind him, including the man in the uniform who, as England quickly realized, was not America.

“Your majesty,” England quickly bowed, “I apologize for my tardiness.”

“Nonsense, Arthur, I’m glad you’re here. Come, you may stand beside me,” The king beckoned him over in which Arthur quickly complied. “This man here is George Washington,” The king continued, pointing to the weary man in blue, “He came to speak, but thanks to you, it won’t be much of a negotiation.” The room filled with laughter. England watched the man’s expression closely as he took his post beside King George III and his wife, Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. George Washington looked upon Parliament with a stern expression as if fearlessly watching a predator that had its sights set on him. The man’s bravery was admirable.

“Your majesty,” England began, “Shouldn’t we send for-,” the monarch waved him into silence.

“I’ve already sent for your brother, Arthur, he’ll be here in a moment’s time.” The king looked upon the nation with a soft expression. Having grown up around him, the two were as close as a man and his country could possibly be. As if on cue, the doors opened and another blue coat entered the red adorned room and all heads turned.

“Alfred!” George Washington let the exclamation slip along with an outward sigh of relief.

“G-general!” Alfred, unbound and alone, was taken aback. Completely stunned, his eyes became wide and darted around the room in search of an explanation.

“Welcome, Alfred F. Jones, otherwise known as America,” King George motioned for Alfred to join his comrade in arms but he did not comply as Arthur had. Instead he stood in the middle of the room, ignoring the eyes looking down on him and glowered straight ahead at the monarchs.

“ _United States of_ America,” He corrected. England clenched his fists at the disrespect, but the king simply wore a faint smile and continued on.

“Very well then, let us get on with the negotiations, shall we?”

“What is it you want?” George Washington asked respectfully.

“I want the colonists to be loyal and pay to the crown of course.” King George replied with simplicity.

“So you want things to be as they were before?” George Washington asked with hope in his voice. He only wished that the country could get off with a slap on the wrist like that.

“No, I ask for much more.” The king replied.

“If you already know what you want then tell us!” America’s voice rang out. Instantly the room broke out into whispers of the young man’s disrespectfulness.

“America, watch yourself!” England barked. Again, the king raised his hand to quiet Arthur as well as the nobles.

“As you wish.” King George cleared his throat, “As of today, September 3rd of 1783, and with this treaty which will be known as the Treaty of Parliament; Great Britain will officially absorb its colonies. The name ‘United States of America’ will be dissolved and in its place the Empire of Great Britain will be formed. Colonists will be required to pay taxes to the crown as well as be expected to house British soldiers. Any act of rebellion, no matter how small, will be considered treasonous and dealt with immediately. Rebel leaders-,” As he spoke several guards entered and he looked to see the approving eyes of the Parliament, “Will be captured and sentenced to death.” At the end of the proclamation the guards grabbed onto Washington who gave no resistance. Alfred, however, lunged forward and landed a fist on the face of the nearest guard, knocking him to the ground.

“America!” England sprung from his place as well. He grabbed onto the colony’s right arm, but America brought his elbow back and dug it into the British nation’s ribs hard enough to force him to let go. _He still has this much fight left in him?_ England thought. Meanwhile, the guard had scrambled to his feet and was swinging his own punch at America which he swiftly dodged and shouldered the man back down to the ground.

“Alfred!” Washington’s shrill voice echoed through the raucous, “Stop this at once!” In immediate response to his general, America froze and the room became still except for the guard who saw his chance and pinned America’s arms behind his back. America began to struggle again, to get the guard off his back he rammed backwards into the nearest podium. Nobles sitting in the stands lurched backwards with worried cries as the guard sprawled over it.

“Don’t make this worse for yourself!” Washington warned again.

“Did you not hear him, George?” Alfred cried, “They’ll kill you! The people, they need you George! Why can’t you understand that?” the young man’s weak voice softened Washington’s harsh expression.

“No, they need you,” Alfred opened his mouth to say something but the revolutionary general stopped him, “I am just a man, you are the will of the people. You are the American Dream, the embodiment of our hope. Surely, we will need you. Maybe not today, or perhaps tomorrow, but I can guarantee that we will need you.” The room was in an intense silence. America found it hard to accept Washington’s decision, it wasn’t right. None of it was. He looked tearfully at his general, and saluted him.

“Take them away!” The monarch ordered. Washington turned his back and was taken down the hall his tattered blue coat trailing behind him in a dignified manner. The dazed guard drug himself back up and continued his endeavor to contain America. He grabbed him by his arm and attempted to force him out, but his rage overpowered the guard’s strength and he forcefully turned to King George.

“You can’t do this to my people!” He shouted, “We will fight back!”

“They’re _my_ people,” the king corrected, “I said take him away!” England stepped in to join the guard, with the two strengths combined they managed to wrestle America out the doors. Once out the colony was thrown against the wall. He slumped against it and, eventually, fell to the floor.

“What was that?” England scolded, motioning for the guard to leave them. The guard looked between England and America then decided it best to leave the otherworldly beings to their own agendas. “You saluted him, right there in _my_ Parliament!” England cried almost in disbelief, “A criminal!”

“That man is _my_ general!” Alfred briefly looked up at Arthur with eyes full of tears and rage. As soon as their eyes met England’s harsh expression became one stricken with surprise as well as grief. To see America in such a state pained him. Alfred noted the change in Arthur’s expression and hung his head to hide the tears. He gripped his skull, fingers unceremoniously running through his unclean hair while tears fell involuntarily and he found himself taking deep, shaky breaths in an effort to control his rampant emotions.

“He was, America,” England said softly, “Was.” As England observed the colony was reminded of the time he lost Queen Elizabeth, one of his most precious monarchs. He looked then much like America did now, despairing but desperately trying to stay strong.

“When will the execution be?” America’s tired voice drew England back to reality.

“I’m not positive.” Came England’s unhelpful reply. For the next several minutes, America never so much as bothered to raise his head while the only comfort England could provide was a soft stare with eyes full of pity. _I’m sorry, America,_ he thought, but he couldn’t bring the words to life. This is what war brought; the colony should learn to be responsible for his actions. Still, the Englishman’s heart ached to hold the America as if he were still a child and dry his cheeks, just like before.

“Come,” he said finally after Alfred’s body had stopped shaking, “I’ll take you to your new residency.” America didn’t take the hand that was offered to him, instead he used the wall to pull himself up then voluntarily, but slowly, started towards the exit without making a sound. England trailed behind, not wanting to be faced with the young man’s broken features. Their footsteps echoed in the long hallway like ghosts of the past mourning over what can’t be undone. The mourning footsteps gave England an uneasy feeling, if the carriage ride back was this torturous he wasn’t sure if he could make it. At last, the pair exited the Palace. The sun had come out during the time they were inside, so much so that England had to shade his eyes to see properly. While birds chirped about their business in the scenic garden America headed directly towards the carriage, refusing to wait for Sammy to open it.

“What happened?” Sammy asked upon Arthur’s approach.

“I’m sure you’ll hear about it in the newspapers,” Arthur replied, “Take us to St. James’s, if you’d please.” He asked as he, too, climbed into the carriage without waiting for the coachman.

“What? Not sitting with your friend?” America asked wearily when England had situated himself inside.

“I can’t very well leave you. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not accompanied by guards, or soldiers, or any of the kind this time.” England retorted, “Which means that I’m in charge of you.”

“Oh.” America replied then said no more. As England predicted, the trip was painstakingly long. The two brothers avoided communication like the plague, and even more so eye contact. So both of them felt a sense of relief when they arrived at their destination.

“St. James’s Palace!” Sammy grinned excitedly as he held the door for the exiting nation and colony, “This is the closest I’ve been to it and I must say, it’s gorgeous up close!”

“Indeed it is.” England stopped beside the boy for conversation, he briefly looked back at America who surveyed the palace with disgust before continuing ahead towards the front entrance.

“It’s a shame that I’ll never see the inside.” Sammy continued on, drawing Arthur’s attention back.

“Why is that?” he asked with mild concern.

“Well, I’m just a coachman. The furthest I go is the doorstep.” The young coachman looked upon the palace with wondrous eyes, much like that of a child. Arthur let out a chuckle and ruffled the boy’s hair.

“How about this? If you’re ever not ‘just a coachman,’ why don’t you pay me a visit?” Arthur suggested, “You’ll be welcomed as my guest anytime.”

“Are you sure that would be alright?” Sammy asked with both concern and eagerness.

“Of course! I am Great Britain after all.” England turned to leave and gave him a wave, “Stop by anytime.”

“I will, definitely!” the young coachman declared with a wave, “Until next time!” Behind him, England heard the horses being readied then the familiar clatter of carriage leaving the grounds. He smiled to himself, happy to have met another young citizen of his country. Arthur walked to the front steps. The large door made of intricately designed ebony wood was already being held ajar by his personal butler, William.

“Where has America gone?” he asked as he marched up the steps and inside the oversized set of double doors.

“If you’re referring to Mr. Jones, he insisted that I take him straight to his quarters. Even when I offered to give him a tour he declined, mentioning under his breath that he wasn’t feeling well.” William explained, following Arthur down through the castle. The butler stayed exactly three paces behind Arthur as was the old man’s custom.

“Ah, well, it can’t be helped.” Arthur adjusted his collar, he was eager to get out of his uniform and into his long awaited casual wear, “He is acting like a stubborn child, even so, I can’t find it within myself to blame him. Let him rest for tonight.”

“Yes, of course Sir.” As Arthur approached his chambers, William sped ahead to hold the door. Arthur thanked him as he entered the luxurious room. It was well organized and adorned in a simple pallet. From his bed and windows cascaded white silks and finery. A fireplace occupied the far-side wall and two scarlet, cushioned chairs sat facing it. William turned to leave his master to change but Arthur stopped him abruptly.

“Oh and tell that bastard _,_ Allistor, that if I find him skulking around Alfred’s room I’ll scrape that infuriating red hair clean off his scalp with a lovely new technique I learned while in America. ” England began to unbutton the cuffs on his hands with annoyance. The butler, well aware of the two’s relationship, gave a wry smile.

“I’ll be sure to do that, sir.” He bowed respectfully before leaving Arthur to his undressing.

The next morning, England approached America’s door with caution. Much like he had when on the ship all that time ago, except this time there was no crashing chairs to waver his courage; he knocked with confidence.

“Come in,” A voice called from inside. England opened the door slowly, accidentally allowing it to creak uncontrollably. _Blasted thing needs oiling,_ he thought despairingly. He noticed America, sitting in front of a writing desk facing away from him so that the colony had to turn to see who was entering. Blue eyes looked expectantly at him and England felt the palms of his hands grow moist and cold under his pale gloves.

“I, uh, brought you a change of clothing.” He held the garments at eye level, expecting the same harshness as before when he had asked America to change.

“Oh, thanks, I hoped I could get my hands on a clean outfit.” America left his chair to take the items from England’s hands. The nation was shocked at America’s casual reaction. He entered the room, the door clattering shut behind him.

“You see,” America continued as he took of his blue coat, “I went ahead and washed up this morning, but was disappointed to find that all I had to wear was my uniform.” He let out a chuckle, “Guess I could’ve asked the servants for clothes, couldn’t I?”

“You’re not angry?” England asked out of context.

“Over a pair of new clothes?” America scrunched his brow. He had already begun to dress himself.

“You said,” England paused to gather his composure, “You said that your, erm, uniform, wasn’t just cloth. That it was something more.”

“It is,” America agreed. He thoughtfully caressed the blue coat, “but I can’t go on wearing it forever, I think I’ll just hold on to it for now.” The young man put the item back down and finished dressing. England frowned, he would have liked for America to get rid of the tattered thing, but he wasn’t going to press the issue. Not yet anyway.

“So you’re not angry?” England repeated.

“I just said I wasn’t.” America looked at him with a frown. He pulled the pale sleeves of his linen shirt out of the black overcoat; he stretched slightly, forcing the garments to fit more comfortably to his body. “Though I will never understand why we insist on wearing such stiff clothing.” America muttered to himself.

“I’m not talking about the clothes anymore, America.” England clarified, “I meant are you still sour about yesterday’s events.” The colony’s face fell and his eyes drifted to the floor, staring absentmindedly at the red carpeting. With his eyes meticulously studying the young man’s face, England waited in silence. He watched carefully as America’s expression faded into and out of resentment.

“I’m not going to lie, Britain.” America shut his eyes as he spoke, perhaps so he wouldn’t have to see the nation’s worried look, “I can’t bring myself to forgive you, well, at least not yet. But it looks like I’ll be staying with you for a while, so we should at least try to get along.”

“You’re softer than I am, lad.” America’s head snapped towards the door and England spun around. Leaning against the doorway stood a man clad in white and blue. The clothing resembled America’s military uniform, but it was different for it lacked a high collar and was tailored for casual wear. His fiery red hair brought out the green in his eyes, darker, yet, sharper than those of England’s. In physical appearance, he looked about America’s age but his piercing eyes reflected his years of experience. He had a tall, slim body, taller than England, at least.

“You must be the little lad my brother here wouldn’t shut up about. But it looks to me that he might be the little lad himself and not realize it yet.” The man continued on.

“Shut your mouth, Scotland!” England seethed, “Don’t listen to him, America! This bastard practically wreaks of bad influence!”

“Hey, my smoking habits aren’t that bad.” Scotland humored, throwing up his arms and entering the room, “Besides, is this how you treat someone who has only come to greet the new guest.” He turned to America, “Welcome, to the Palace of Oppression.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to shut your-,” England’s order was interrupted by the young colony standing behind him.

“Who is this?” He asked.

“This is Scotland.” England answered irritably.

“I gathered that much.” America prodded England to give him more information. The Englishman was reluctant to say anything more but finally he let out a huff, he thought that since America and Scotland would be living under the same roof for a while it would only be appropriate to tell the young man a little more about that bagpipe-loving idiot.

“I’m his older brother, unfortunately.” Scotland answered before he could say anything.

“He’s the one you always refused talked about?” America inquired again at England.

“Well, I have a few older brothers and I’ve refused to talk about any of them. Scotland just happens to be one.” England answered briefly.

“If you hate him so much why is he living with you?”

“Why must you ask so many questions, America? His king and mine are one and the same; therefore, he _must_ stay here to help deal with political matters!” England turned towards his younger brother in exasperation, “Does that answer everyth-,” upon seeing America’s worried features his words drifted to form a different sentence.

“America, what’s wrong?”

“If Scotland has to stay because he has the same king as you, what does that mean for me?”

“I don’t imagine they’ll be letting you back to your homeland anytime soon, lad.” Scotland interjected once again. England whirled back around to face the Scotsman.

“ _Get out_.” he snapped. Scotland threw his hands in the air then transitioned to a mocking bow, his feet crossing over one another and his torso bent down low.

“Whatever you say, _your highness,_ ” he straightened himself then looked America in the eye and with a wink said, “I’ll be seeing you around.”

“You stay away from America, you hear me?” England shouted as Scotland began to leave. The red head didn’t turn around but instead slammed the door with enough force to shake the frame. America stood there in silence for a moment, listening to the quiet profanities England muttered under his breath.

“How long?” he asked after the Englishman’s slew of words became something moderately comprehensible.

“How long for what?” England asked with misdirected irritability.

“How long will I have to live here?” America felt cold at the older nation’s silence, “Britain, please, I have to go home. My people need me.”

“This is your home now,” England said soothingly, “And I promised I’d take care of your people, did I not? They’re in good hands.” America frowned. His eyes flickered, once again in and out of emotions of resentment and, this time, anger. He turned away and walked back towards the writing desk he had been sitting at earlier, England watching him all the while.

“I think it’s best you leave.” He muttered; Seeing as there was not much else he could do, England reluctantly complied.

“I’ll see you at dinner.” England said quietly, shutting the door behind him. America slumped into the delicately designed desk chair. He rested his elbows on the dark, wooden desk, his hands clasped behind his neck and his head hung over an open journal. The writing was fresh from that very morning when he had found it in one of the drawers. His blue eyes scanned his own penmanship, meticulously reading the same lines again and again.

“Why is this happening?” he croaked, “Things were never supposed to turn out this way.”

That night Alfred was visited once again by a knock on his door.

“Come in,” he muttered tiredly. A servant, who America recognized as William, hoisted open the door but did not enter.

“Dinner is ready.” He shifted to hold the door with his back, “Master Kirkland asked me to bring you, allow me to show you the way.” Alfred shifted in his chair before wobbling into a standing position. William took no time in noting the young man’s sloppy behavior.

“Did you not sleep well last night, Mr. Jones?” he asked.

“Something like that.” Alfred replied, briskly walking past the butler. After their brief exchange, William followed Alfred in silence, except when he would occasionally give the colony directions to successfully lead him to the dining room. He found Alfred to be quite rude but, as a servant under the great nation of England, he understood well how countries acted after war. His feelings about the American remained somewhere between sympathy and neutrality, much unlike how he found the Scotsman who was _always_ rude not to mention demanding, then again it’s hard to appreciate someone who treats you like a nuisance. William directed Alfred to stop and wait for him to hold open the door, but to his dismay the American burst into the dining area. _It can’t be helped,_ he thought, _according to Master Kirkland, the boy is always like this._

“Ah, America, I’m glad you could make it.” England greeted, giving a dismissive nod in William’s direction. The butler bowed and took his leave. The table was fine and intricately decorated, much like everything else in the palace. Its color was that of light oak whose rings could be seen clearly thanks to the polish. The backs of the chairs were made to create the effect of flowing loops and the centerpiece held several black candles. The table wasn’t grand, sitting only six people at the most. In fact, it looked lonely with only England at the head of the table and Scotland on one of the side seats furthest away from England and stabbing at his plate like a murderer.

“Good evenin,’ lad! Glad you could make it!” He greeted America with a welcoming grin. America looked between Scotland and England slowly before seating himself across from Scotland.

“Are you alright?” England asked.

“I’m tired.” America replied briefly.

“I see, some food ought to do you good then.” England gestured to America’s platter but he looked away.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well that’s a first.”

“I’m not a pig, England!” America seethed. England returned the comment with a look of surprise and, indistinctly, Scotland’s humored expression turned into a deep frown. The colony looked, again, between Scotland and England whose eyes were both boring into him. He took a shaky breath to calm himself and turned to the head of the table.

“Britain,” he started slowly, keeping his emotions in check, “I think because, politically, my name doesn’t exist anymore, that I should be referred to as Alfred from now on.”

“You’re being ridiculous, America,” England immediately answered, “Our human names are used so that humans can address us in a political fashion it’s only appropriate that people like us address each other properly as well. Besides, you were called America long before the states’ were formed.” After his brief rejection of the proposal, England begrudgingly began eating again.

“I see.” America sighed and sunk back into his chair, staring absentmindedly at his own meal.

“You know, if it helps,” Scotland put down his weapon for a moment, “You could always eat in your room, I do so all the time.”

“Scotland!” England interjected but was silenced by America’s voice.

“Actually, I think I’d prefer that,” he stood, grabbing the platter and heading for the door. “Forgive my rudeness,” he said to the two, just before leaving. After he had left Scotland also stood with his plate in hand.

“Ya’know, England,” the words trailed reluctantly off his mouth, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but for once, you did something right.”

~*~*~*~*

**September 22 nd, 1783**

_Despite everything that’s happened, the days still roll by with the same pace as before. Too quickly have I watched the sun rise high then drop like the blade hung above Damocles, giving way to the night. Perhaps, that really is what life is like. Every day we walk the streets almost unnoticing of the light that ticks away at our lives. Or, perhaps, I’m thinking too much. I’ve never worried about things like this before, but I guess that this place just allows me too much time to think about everything that has happened. I should really find something to keep me busy; after all, it does me no good to be a Romantic._

“You’re majesty, if I may-,” England protested. The nation had been summoned to the king’s study. He worried that his summons had been about the American colonies, and his suspicions proved correct. King George III was a merciful king but he was one of the most displeased at the American Revolution. England was a fool to think that he would comply with his advice, and even more so to believe that he would adopt policies that pleased the Americans.

“I will invest no more in wars with savage people who fight with sticks and bows!” the king barked, “Too much has gone into the American expansion already! Have you seen the state of our treasury, Arthur? I’m sure you have, and I’m sure it’s effecting you as well!”

“We are not yet in that dire of a state,” Arthur said evenly, “But that’s beside the point. I really think you should talk to Alfred about these things. I may represent the land now, but he’s still linked to the people.”

“That boy would do everything in his power to lead me to ruin for his people!”

“Alfred would do no such thing!”

“And how do you know? Who are you to say that he won’t?” The king interrogated.

“Because I raised him! _Your_ nation raised him!” Arthur’s words put the king into a stubborn silence. He sighed and continued on, “And for the record, I’m his brother. He’s family whether you like it or not, George.” Arthur paused long enough to give a thought to Scotland, he was family as well and as he looked at the king he could tell both their thoughts were drifting towards the insolent country, “Just think of him as the pleasant colony we all wished Scotland was.” He added with a light smirk. Thankfully, it was the truth, and King George let out a reluctant chuckle at the humor, but as stubborn as he was he quickly composed his expression back to one of obstinate resentment.

“This only proves my point,” he challenged, “We’ve had a Union with Allistor for centuries and, what was it? Only a little less than forty years ago did he attempt to become independent again. He even dealt with the French! Don’t you remember the regulation’s we had to put on those people?”

“I’m telling you, Alfred isn’t like that.” England protested once again.

“I will have no more of it!” King George silenced the nation, “Parliament and I have already agreed on it, the American’s will not travel any further westward. Those who do will be punished severely and those who have will be evicted. Am I understood?”

“Please, don’t do thi-,” the king rose steadily from his chair.

“Am. I. Understood?” he asked again. England looked up at his monarch with eyes full of defeat.

“Yes, your majesty.” Arthur bowed in forced compliance while King George sat back down with a heavy sigh.

“I had hoped to gain your approval on this, Arthur.”

“I know, your majesty.”

“I suppose you can’t help the way you feel, even I know what it’s like to raise a child,” he heaved yet another sigh full of empathy for Arthur, “You may leave.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” Arthur turned quickly for the door, ignoring the kind pity the king had showed him.

“Oh and Arthur,” his monarch called at the last second, “I believe I mentioned this before but, the United States of America, that name no longer exists.”

“Then what would you have me call him?” Arthur forced the words out with his back still turned.

“It doesn’t matter, find something creative.” King George pondered dismissively.

“Of course, I’ll take my leave now.” England didn’t wait for the king’s reply; he disrespectfully slammed the door shut behind him with enough force that the wood rattled on its hinges. Change America’s name? Does he not understand the importance of a name? Has he not named any of his children after his lineage? Human parents don’t rename their children after a rebellious phase! What about Scotland, then? They never had to rename him. And the colonists! All crowded by the seashores, and still receiving plenty of immigrants! England didn’t wish to go to another war against the natives, but he was sure there was plenty enough money if need be. As he brewed over the issues he made his way down the hall at a pace so fast he almost walked right by the young man. At the last moment, he skid to a stop.

“America,” he looked at the colony in bewilderment. To see him here, so close to the king’s study despite the fact he avoided George like the plague, what could the chances be?

“What are you doing here?” England asked immediately after analyzing the situation.

“I was looking for you.” He stated, a believable excuse. To England’s delight, the brothers’ relationship had gotten significantly better over the past two weeks. It seemed his suspicions were right about America being more agreeable than Scotland ever could be, that bastard.

“How long have you been here?” He continued to interrogate. Just to make sure, of course.

“Long enough to hear your conversation.” America said suddenly with the corners of his lips turning downwards into a frown. The older nation let out an anxious breath. So he _had_ been eavesdropping.

“You shouldn’t be here, America, head back to your room and we can play chess in a moment.” England straightened his clothing all the while avoiding eye contact with the colony. What was he to say? America had heard it all already and it’s not like he could make many excuses, everything the colony might’ve heard was the king’s orders.

“ _Don’t_ treat me like a child here, Britain.” America’s neutral tone took a dramatic shift into threatening, “You know you did me wrong!”

“I _what?”_ England snapped, “If you were listening you would know that _I_ wanted George to talk to _you_!”

“You said that _you_ could take care of my people! You promised me that you would, or have you forgotten?” America raged on. “I can’t leave them like this!” America muttered the last part more to himself than to England.

“What are you getting at America?” England spat without missing a beat. His own emotions were running rampant and he was in no mood to play with words.

“I’m saying that I can’t trust you.” America’s statement shot through England like an arrow. It was what he had wanted, but the straightforwardness directly pierced his heart, “You obviously have little or no power here when it comes to the American colonies, I can’t leave them to you like this.” America looked down with a scowl lingering on his brow. The expression made his face weary and troubled; a harsh look for such a young piece of land. He stared at the floor as if he wished it to melt under England’s feet and drop the nation in hell, “I understand what Scotland was saying,” he said, unable to fight off the words spilling off his tongue, “About not being able to rest easy with you in charge.” He dealt the final blow with the ferocity of a wind storm that left England shaken and raised his anger to an equal level.

“I thought I told you to stay away from that bleeding cock-up, sad excuse for a nation who relies on nothing but sarcasm and cigarettes to get him through life!” England seethed as he pointed a finger at the other not much unlike the way a parent would when disciplining a child, “As for you, cheeky brat, I’ve been lenient on you because I know what it feels like to lose a war, but it’s been almost a month now and it’s high time you grew up and act like the adult you thought you were during your damned revolution!”

“I don’t see how you can expect me to get over it in a month, Britain.” America slapped away the Englishman’s accusing finger, “If Scotland is a sad excuse for a nation because you rule over him than what am I? What is a piece of land without even a name tacked onto it worth to you?”

“This has nothing to do with what I think of you America!” England answered.

“Doesn’t it? Last time I checked my people were being punished because your king _didn’t trust me._ ” The American glowered at his brother, “What does that tell me Britain? Can you look me in the eyes and say that you trust me and my people?”

“This is ridiculous I-,” England tried to reason but America gripped his shoulders so tightly that it almost hurt.

“Can you trust me _or_ my people, Britain?” The colony locked eyes with the former. He waited patiently for an answer, scanning his brother’s emerald irises, but to his dismay England pulled an arm across his chest in a sort of uncomfortable defense, and looked away.

“I see,” America’s voice regained the neutral quality it was before and he straightened himself, letting his grip loosen and his hands fall like curtain to his sides, “So you can’t trust either one.”

“How can you expect me to?” England replied in a harsh whisper, a flurry of emotions were running through his mind. He had been frustrated, enraged, then deeply wounded all in a matter of minutes, “After all I went through for you, you did something so radical like declaring independence. Your people killed mine a-and you stabbed me in the back.”

“Well it’s over now, Britain,” America balled his hands into fists and he spoke with a sharpened edge in his voice, “It’s been almost a month now, maybe it’s time you grow up and act like the adult you’ve always said you were.” With that he turned and walked away. His heels clicked ominously down the hall as, with each step, he left a more sickening pit in his brother’s stomach. England needed to get back to his quarters, quickly, before he blew up.

“Damn it!” he shouted down the hallways, failing miserably at keeping his calm outward appearance. “Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!” A poor servant girl was almost knocked over as the nation hastened to his door, slamming it without any regard to the wood’s well-being.

“Damn it!” he continued to repeat as he rampaged through his room, knocking over any unfortunate piece of furniture, “Damn you George, I’m your nation! If you can’t listen to your nation than what kind of bleeding king are you? Same to you Scotland, you pish! I told you to stay away from America! Speaking of which damn you too! You ungrateful prat, I wish France had raised you! You’re such a burden that it would serve that frog right!” he ended by putting his fist right through his antique coffee table. The pain of fine splinters served as a way to bring him back to reality. He uttered a slew of curses at the pain he felt shoot up his arms as he was forced to gently ease his hand out of the wood, then slumped against the smooth wall and coddled his bleeding hand. Looking down at the red liquid as it dripped and stained his clothing. Being preoccupied with taming his emotions, the tears welled up in his eyes and slipped away almost unbeknownst to him, at least until the salt found its way into his wounds. He bit his trembling lip as he worked shards of wood out of his flesh, silently sobbing for a time.

“No, that’s not right,” he muttered in a shaky voice after he had calmed some. “I-I’m really glad America chose me over that wanker, and George is stubborn but he’s a good king nonetheless.” He let out another choked sob and picked out his last splinter, “Things shouldn’t have turned out this way just when America and I had been getting along. Damn you Scotland, if you weren’t out to turn him against me this wouldn’t have happened.” He looked towards the ceiling, blurred and seemingly far off in the dark room, “How long will it be until you stop punishing me, Scotland? Haven’t I payed my dues?” The darkness reminded him of another room in a different time. A knife, an eye that held the forest opening just at the wrong moment, a murder neither could commit. _I may have failed as a little brother,_ England thought, _but I will not fail as a big one because of you._ England felt exhausted, but stood anyway and headed out. _If I want anything to get better with America,_ _I’d better apologize because knowing him, he certainly won’t be the one to bend. That stubborn git._

_~*~*~*~*_

America walked quickly away, away from Britain, away from the king, and away from all his troubles but to no avail. Everywhere he went his thoughts followed with quiet songs of purple mountain majesties and amber fields of grain. They enticed him, beckoned him to temptation; dare he long for home? Dare he, once again, long for freedom? Perhaps he would, if “once again” was the appropriate term, the insatiable ache never left him. He felt it as a pain in his chest, he saw it in every bird in the sky, and he heard it on sleepless nights in the form of the cries of men and women from his country.

“Mr. Jones?” a rough voice called, America turned to see England’s faithful butler. Over the past couple weeks the old man had become somewhat of his caretaker, bringing America’s dinner to his room and always making sure he had everything he needed. When he wished to go beyond the castle’s walls William would do him a good favor and not tell England, until later.

“Where an earth are you going, Mr. Jones?” William asked with a quizzical look on his face.

Alfred gave him a dazed stare. His eyes rested on the butler for a good minute before darting to his surroundings, where _was_ he going?

“You look pale Mr. Jones, are you in pain?”

“Something like that.” Alfred admitted with a meek smile, “Oh, don’t look so startled William, even countr- ah, colonies, like myself get homesickness.” The old man’s shoulder’s relaxed a tad.

“I see,” he said, “if you need a moment to yourself I can inform master Kirkland that you’ve headed to town.”

“There’s no need William.” Alfred replied a bit too quickly; a bit too sternly.

“Perhaps, you two had another quarrel?” William’s wrinkled face creased into a frown.

“Perhaps,” Alfred repeated, not wishing to continue the conversation any longer he added, “Tell Arthur that if he needs me I’ll be somewhere on the grounds.” After receiving an acknowledging nod from the other he continued on his way. With the success of his aimless wanderings, he found the palace gardens. He roamed around the rows of flowers that had bloomed in beautiful arrays of blues, reds, pinks and yellows. The flora was so well taken care of that only recently, near the end of September, had they begun to wilt. America came to a halt when he found a particularly beautiful spot. In the middle of the area was a large rectangular fountain spurting water to the sky in an attempt to reach the heavens. It was bordered by a burgundy brick path that allowed one to easily walk around it without stepping on any of the vegetation which grew in a blinding burst of warm colors that wrapped the viewer in a blanket of their beauty. America marveled at the sight, unaware of the figure approaching him.

“You like it too, lad?” America turned to see Scotland. He stood in his usual blue and white uniform with his eyes shut in concentration as his hands, raised to his mouth, fought against the light breeze to light a cigarette. Once lit, he breathed in deeply and let the substance fill his blood with an intoxicating calmness, then he breathed out slowly so a thin cloud of smoke hung just above him. His dark colored eyes fluttered open first towards the sky then drifting down to rest on the young man.

“Ah, don’t mind me.” A smirk appeared on Scotland’s lips, “I’m just bathing myself in the stench of bad influence.”

“I didn’t take you as one to appreciate anything on English land.” America replied, offering a weak smile in return.”

“Aye, let’s just say it’s a single blossom on a dead tree.” Smoke slipped between Scotland’s teeth as he held the cigarette between them in the fashion of a grin. He searched briefly for a place to sit before finally settling on a brick ledge that separated a collection of white lilies from human touch, “But it seems you can appreciate it more. After all, you and my worthless brother get along fine; though I can’t imagine how,” He dusted a couple fall leaves off the bricks and sat, “You must really love him.”

“How do you figure?” America stepped closer to Scotland. He stood looking down at the man with a solemn expression while the country rested his elbows on his knees and simply looked on. He was quiet for a while, just looking at the flowers and every once in a while taking a deep, drawn-out drag of his cigarette. Gradually, his pleasant expression became despondent and memories shrouded his eyes like a rainstorm.

“You’d have to, to be able to forgive him for what he’s done.” He responded at last, “I know what it’s like to lose a revolution, you and I are similar in that way.”

“I didn’t know,” America replied with a mild tone of surprise.

“How could you?” Scotland looked at him, “My brother would be diggin’ his own grave if he told you. See, I hated him so much I wanted to rip myself away from him and he’s scared you feel the same.” The pair studied each other’s grim expressions, as if the man they were looking at was simply a reflection; they mirrored each other in all too many ways.

“But that’s not right,” Scotland looked away from his double, “You love the guy so much that you were willing to let him go just to be on equal ground, isn’t that right?”

“Something like that,” Again, Scotland’s gaze shifted from the distance to the colony.

“If I’m wrong than what is it?” he interrogated, “What was so important that you were willing to let go of family?”

“It’s a long story.” America’s expression remained stoic but this time it was him that broke eye contact in preference for watching the spray of water shoot into the air. Scotland waved the cigarette dismissively all the while spreading thin lines of smoke throughout the air.

“A few centuries worth of drama is nothing,” he said, “You should meet China. Now that guy has problems.” With his head resting on his free hand, he glimpsed at America through one eye, watching with satisfaction as the young man’s serious expression broke into a genuine smile. _The brat told the truth,_ he thought, _this kid’s smile really is like the sun._

“Actually, I was alive even before you European’s even discovered me.” America sat down beside the Scotsman and gave him a lighthearted grin when he started in surprise.

“Really? I didn’t know, then you must’ve just been a lil’ babe for so long then. How’d you survive?”

“It’s true, I only had the body of a child,” America nodded as he pondered his own memories, “but the Indians took care of me, all the different tribes welcomed me as their own, even if one tribe I stayed with was at war with another that I would later visit.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, lad,” Scotland frowned in confusion, “You’d think they’d try to kill ya.”

“It makes perfect sense if you think about it.” The colony went on to explain, “They are spiritual humans and are greatly in tune with the land; whether they thought I was a spirit or a god doesn’t matter, but I think they all sensed that I was the embodiment of the nature they lived off of.” Scotland stopped to ponder the idea for a while, taking one last drag of his cigarette before throwing it into the pond, an act England had repeatedly told him to avoid, and getting out another.

“So, before us Europeans, you were copper skinned?” he asked after lighting the new smoke, “England talked about you quite a bit but he never mentioned you being copper.”

“That’s because I wasn’t. As far as I can remember, I’ve been pale.”

“How?” Scotland’s interest in the story was steadily increasing.

“The natives may have had their respective areas, but they never politically claimed a piece of land; especially since some of them were migrational. I was born later, when men in a wooden vessel arrived and claimed the whole northern continent.” As paused briefly and looked towards the sky, “Now that I think about it,” he said, “that might’ve been when Canada was born as well.”

“The men in the vessel,” Scotland asked, now thoroughly intrigued by America’s tale, “You think it was that Italian, Christopher Columbus?” America shook his head solemnly. His thoughts fell deeper and deeper into the memories of his birth.

“His name was Leif Eriksson.”

“Christ! How long ago was that?”

“I don’t know, I never got a date,” America clasped his hands between his legs and settled back into his solemn expression from before, “I was frightened and confused. They left before I could work up the courage to have any real conversation with them. Eventually, I wandered until I met a tribe heading south from, wherever I was. They kept me good company and, as I said before, they gave me the special treatment but I never took that as a sign of anything. Before I knew it all my friends, once children, had grown old enough to have grandchildren and died over and over and over again, but I never aged. Sometimes by old age, in bad years, starvation, but also in terrible wars with other tribes.” He stopped as the traumatizing memories of death came back to him; he remembered a particularly freezing winter in his childhood when the first snow had come early and killed the year’s harvest. He could only watch as the tribesmen fell like dominos, succumbing to a death which America always felt an inexplicable sense of guilt for. He also remembered cowering behind trees as a tribe was ransacked by another that showed no mercy in burning down their homes. He remembered the cries of the women and children as they were dealt the most unimaginable of cruelties.

“That’s why,” he started again slowly in almost a harsh whisper, “That’s why I was so glad when he came. England was the first one I met, the first one of _us._ And I could sense it! I knew at first glance that he was like me, but I was too frightened to approach him; I didn’t know his language back then. It wasn’t until Jamestown that I was able to speak any English.” Another moment of silence ensued. Scotland was almost afraid to speak his mind, he wondered if asking anything would trigger something the American didn’t want to remember.

“Out of curiosity, what was your name?” he asked anyway, being courteous had never been his strong suit, “I mean, before Europeans.” Again, America shook his head.

“They called me many things but I was encouraged to forget their language. Sadly, I don’t remember any of it.” The young man continued to look into the distance, an image familiar to Scotland for he had seen it many times in a reflection. Scotland took a drag of his long forgotten cigarette then threw it into the pond to join the other.

“Forgive me if I’m prying, lad,” he began again, “But after all that, after meeting someone like yourself for the first time, why were you willing to tear it apart.” As he asked he watched the colonies’ face contorted into a pained look and hang his head so that his bangs formed a curtain to conceal his expression.

“I met England, and France, and Canada,” he said in a voice that could perfectly describe his expression without any sort of visual, “That told me that there was a whole world out there that I was missing. Back then, I knew I was too young, so I would ask England to tell me stories. He would tell me wonderful tales about far off places that, in my heart, I grew the desire to see, and also tales of war that made my stomach churn. As I grew older I came to the realization that England would never allow me to see the world out there; he would never allow me to meet the people that I had longed to see for so many years, but I put up with it.” He took a deep breath to calm himself, but his tone still took on a fierce, heartbroken quality.

“For him I tried to ignore the ache in my heart, I would content myself with his stories and history books. I thought time would change him, but time took too long. After so many wars, so many ugly battles, my people began to cry. They were so loud that I could neither sleep, nor eat, or concentrate on my studies. I tried to put up with that as well, but the straw that broke the camel’s back was when I watched that red coat shoot and kill an American. He was a black man, but he was part of me nonetheless. It happened right in front of me, and just like with everyone else I couldn’t do a single thing! I had caught the body, I held him but it was already cold. Like the gun had erased all traces of warmth just like it had with his existence, and I thought ‘No innocent man deserves to die like this, not one.’ I was so lonely, had seen so many people die, that all I’ve ever wanted was to reach out and embrace the world. I wanted to break away from Britain so I could help the world in my own way; I just wanted to be a part of their lives! It shouldn’t-,” he hesitated for a moment, holding back whatever cry of woe threatened to appear without his consent.

“It shouldn’t be so Goddamn hard!” Despite his efforts, his voice shattered on the last line like a million shards of soulless glass dropped from a drunken hand, but he didn’t let out another sound. Or rather, he refused to. The warm tears dripping from his eyes were embarrassing enough to a young man who had never cried in front of anyone but his guardian before.

Scotland looked wistfully at the young man who had buried his face into his hands to keep out the world he had once yearned to bring in. While watching the colony a wound seemed to reopen within Scotland himself, the need for independence. There was nothing to be said; nothing to ease the pain, Scotland knew that better than anyone, but that didn’t stop him from trying. He wrapped a comforting arm around his new found brother.

“You’ve got a heart of gold, lad.” He muttered quietly, “And you gave that bastard a run for his money, I’m proud of you.”

~*~*~*~*

England was becoming worried. William had told him that America would be on the grounds somewhere but it seemed to him that he had checked every place he could be, of course it didn’t help that the palace was so large. He turned the knob and peered into America’s room for the fourth time, still not back. _Has he run away?_ The thought panicked him. Surely, it would be easy enough for America to escape and sail back the colonies, however the consequences would be devastating. King George was fair, but he wasn’t as compassionate as some of the monarch’s before; England cringed imagining what he would do to America if he sailed back to his homeland without permission. He’d be seen as a fugitive and most likely tried for treason against the state as a citizen rather than the embodiment of the colonies. England shut the door loudly; he had to find America.

“Master Kirkland!” William cried from part-way down the red carpeted hall.

“What is it William, have you found America?” Arthur quickly paced towards him and put his hands on the old man’s shoulders.

“No, Master Kirkland, but a man, one I haven’t seen in nearly thirty years! When he stood at the door I hardly recognized him; how he got through the gate I don’t know but instantly, he demanded to know where Mr. Alfred was,” William’s voice was calm but his hands shook with nervousness, “I told him I did not know and he shoved me aside and came in, uninvited!”

“I don’t see what the matter is! Call the guards; get him out!” Arthur barked impatiently.

“But sir! It was mister Beilschmidt.” William protested, eyes wide with worry.

“Prussia!” England gasped. As if on cue the albino came sprinting around the corner, upon seeing the other country he paused to catch his breath, then he sneered.

“England,” he called, the country turned to greet him.

“What is the meaning of this, Prussia?” England stormed angrily towards him, “Breaking into the home of another nation is lunacy! You realize what this means, don’t you? Are you asking for war?” Any amused look the albino nation might’ve had was gone. Once England was close enough he snatched him by his collar, bringing him uncomfortably close, and glared threateningly down at the shorter man.

“Where is America?” he snarled, pronouncing each word with defined dictation so that his German accent was especially prominent, “If you’ve done something to him, _I will end you._ ” England all but exploded with laughter at the threat.

“You, end _me?_ ” the Englishman ripped himself out of the German’s grip, “Don’t get cocky because you got a few lucky breaks during the Seven Years’ War and Russia has your back. You know who I am, don’t you?”

“You’re a diminishing empire with a broken treasury who almost lost a war to the Americans whom _I_ trained!” Prussia replied, his harsh glare lifting into a haughty expression. England’s face dropped in return.

“ _You didn’t dare.”_ England seethed, it took all of his strength not to immediately sock the grin right off Prussia’s face and into next week. How dare he meddle in affairs that weren’t his own, he should learn to mind his own damn business.

“ _But I did,”_ Prussia flashed him a satirical grin, “Do you understand what _that_ means? Let me spell it out for you, imagine fighting that war again but with a lot more colonists. They’re all better trained too.”

“I never heard anything about your government dealing with America!” England raised his voice but desperately attempted to keep his cool. If a fight broke out between the two nations it would mean war for both their countries.

“That’s because they _didn’t,”_ Prussia answered, all the while keeping a smug look on his face, “I went to America by my own will; during the war my people fought alone, without a nation to guide their decisions.”

“That’s insanity!”

“ _Don’t_ underestimate my growing empire, England. You _will_ regret it.”

“What’s all the noise about?” both nations’ heads snapped to the direction of the voice. Standing behind Prussia, Scotland looked over the two, eyes flashing anger when they glanced over England. Prussia looked at the tall redheaded man with mild concern.

“None of your business.” He spat.

“Prussia?” the albino’s gaze turned to America who stood behind the redheaded stranger and returned Prussia’s look with an expression of genuine surprise.

“America! Glad to see you’re alright.” Prussia grinned.

“Where have _you_ been? Don’t tell me you’ve been with that prat this whole time!” England flung an angry hand in the Scotsman’s direction.

“You never shut up do you?” Prussia snapped at the nation.

“That’s right,” Scotland growled, putting an almost protective hand on America’s shoulder, “He’s been with me, what’s wrong with that?” Both he and England paid no heed to Prussia as they stared each other down with a fearsome scowl.

“Must you ask?” England seethed, “It’s bad enough America and I have gone to war with each other without you spurring on his hate!”

“I ain’t the problem!”

“For someone with such a strong empire, you sure are blind.” Prussia joined, taking Scotland’s side. The two had never met before, but Prussia already felt another mind, much like his great one, standing beside him. He cast the redheaded man a sideways glance, Scotland was it? It was indeed, and he was sure to make note of it for he felt that it would be an asset later on.

“Enough!” America interjected. Both Prussia and Scotland glared at the Englishman with contempt, who, in return, did his best to mirror the fierce look to the both of them. All the while William looked upon the four countries, pale, frightened, and rightly so for he had just witnessed a clash that had nearly led to another horrific war. Even simple quarrels among countries should never be taken lightly and for a man who had worked most his life serving one, William knew that best.

“Prussia,” America addressed, breaking the indignant silence, “It’s good to see you.” Prussia’s eyes once again shifted away from England and regarded America with in a much more blithe light.

“Same to you,” he smirked, “Now if we can shake off these two assholes we can talk in private.” Scotland seemed to take no notice of the insult, however England was much less hard of hearing.

“You come into my home uninvited, threaten me, _and_ insult me?” he paced towards the Prussian, “You really think I’d let you have a conference with America especially after admitting you helped with the revolution!” At this Scotland stepped forward, blocking the blonde’s path.

“And who are you to say he can’t?” he looked down upon the furious nation with utter hatred.

“This is _my_ land,” England retorted.

“And you’re keeping America on it, where else are the others supposed to find him?” Scotland shot right back, “Go on, lads, if he tries anything I won’t hesitate to tie him up.”

“Need any help?” Prussia grinned. Only America noticed the two exchange mischievous looks.

“Ha! I’d like to see you try!” England stepped forward, no one would make a coward of him in his own home.

“Oh, we’ll do much more than just that.” Scotland smirked, with the use of his wording America could only infer that he had accepted the other country’s offer.

“No one’s tying anyone up, I hope,” he interjected, giving the other blonde a hard look when mentioning the last part as he hinted that he wouldn’t stop a fight if one broke out. He walked steadily towards his room in which the argument had taken place in front of, “You’re welcome to speak with me, Prussia, as it turns out, my room’s right here.” He gave a meek, welcoming smile to the German.

“All right, All right,” Prussia strode into the room with America following close behind, “Your brother is a piece of work.”

“You spineless git!” England went to step forward but Scotland caught him roughly by the upper arm and held him in a firm grasp, “Americ-,” he attempted but the shutting door cut him off short.

~*~*~*~*

Prussia surveyed the room with moderate disinterest. There wasn’t anything special to be noted, in fact, he only used the chance to locate the nearest armchair in which he could situate his divine being upon. He found his destination, two sleek, white armchairs decorated in gold painted wood faced towards each other. In between the two furnishings was a polished chess table made of hickory. Prussia, of course, invited himself to sit down while America walked across the room to close the open window so that their conversation could not be overheard. The albino watched him attentively, gauging what kind of mood the young colony was in before letting out a loud, obnoxious yawn but stopped abruptly when his eyes caught something that he hadn’t noticed before. Upon the chess table where there should’ve been pieces there was instead an empty glass and a bottle of scotch.

“You haven’t taken to drinking, have you?” the German asked as he picked up the bottle to study its contents, he was glad to find a good half of the liquids still inside.

“Sometimes,” America answered as he sat down in the chair across from him, “But it’s only to relieve the headaches.”

“I see what you mean,” Prussia placed the bottle back where he found it. “England’s so tiring, it’s no wonder why you wanted to get away from him,” he leaned forward, “How about you come live with me? There’s no snobby old men at my place!” he let out a jaunty laugh.

“You’re pretty old yourself you know,” America passed the joke with a small smile.

“But I’m not a snob,” Prussia returned. The pair sat smirking at each other like a couple of close ladies who had just shared the morning’s gossip. Eventually, though, America shook his head solemnly.

“As much as I’d like to, you know I can’t,” he said in a much more serious tone.

“Why not? I’d be more than happy to bash his face in while you make a run for it,” Prussia grinned, but his attempt to keep the humorous air about them failed.

“Because he won’t let me go until he dies and frankly, I just don’t have the strength to watch that.” America answered shortly as he poured himself a glass of scotch, “If you want a glass there’s another on the desk table, next to the book.” He motioned with the glass then brought it to his lips, unfortunately none of the liquid made it into his stomach for Prussia snatched the glass away and, politely, set it back on the table.

“I distinctly remember telling you that it’s impolite to drink on the job,” he gave America a stern look, almost a glare, “When I heard England was keeping you here I came as swiftly as I could, mostly for personal reasons, but seeing as you’re in no mood to banter we have business to attend to as well.” America stared as the proud nation eased himself back into the chair, he wasn’t surprised at the other’s sudden change in demeanor. He was used to it and it had happened often when they worked together on the battlefield; he remembered how they would exchange morbid humor and slander about the enemy then, within seconds, he’d see a flash of silver as Prussia greedily took out five- possibly ten -enemy soldiers, sparing no more than a few seconds on each.

“What do you mean?” America dropped the raised hand back down on the cushioned arm of the chair.

“Well, _Amerika,_ ” Prussia started, letting his dialect slip briefly to show his sincerity, “I wasn’t lying about giving England a well-deserved welt on his pale cheek. Francis and I have been discussing things and we’re both still willing to fight with you, even under these circumstances.”

“You realize what you’re saying, don’t you?” America asked, when Prussia gave him a determined nod he hung his head. He stayed like that for a solid minute before lifting his weary eyes on the man before him, “No, there’s no guarantee that even with your help we will be able to take my land back before Britain imposes his government on my people and, if not, I’d rather spend that time repairing relations with my brother.” Prussia sighed and scratched the back of his head. His frown gave away that he was displeased with America’s answer, but with another sigh he gave in.

“I hope you know that I’m only abstaining from battle because I know what it’s like to be a brother, and couldn’t imagine losing one,” he cast his gaze to the ceiling for a moment but came back with a grin, “And your opinion of course, but as much as I sympathize with England, I won’t stand to see you hurt.”

“I’ll be fine Pruss-,”

“False!” Prussia pointed an accusing finger at the American, “The scotch, the dark room, the perfectly made bed! I slept in the same tent as you for three years and I know for a _fact_ that you don’t make your bed _Amerika._ ” He lowered his finger and rested his cheek on his fist, “This has hurt you more than you’re letting on. Do you not trust me?”

“There’s servants that make the bed for me, Prussia,” America protested, but seeing the Prussian pout brought him some nostalgia, “But yes, I haven’t been sleeping well.” He looked down at the scotch, staring at it while Prussia surveyed him with displeasure.

“America.”

“What?”

“When did you become such a wimp?”

“What are you talking about?” America shot him a defensive glare.

“This is how you were before the awesome Prussia trained your sissy self into a warrior and if you don’t get yourself back into shape soon I’m not afraid to whip you back because you may have lost the war but I sure as hell won’t let all that hard work go to waste.” America’s glare turned into one of mild questioning, but Prussia, on the other hand, continued to look at him with a rather intimidating frown, at least it was intimidating before he started to mimic America’s pre-revolutionary self. “England’s so strong,” he whined, “What if I lose? What if my people die for nothing? I can’t even hold a gun right, I’ll shoot my eye out!”

“I was _not_ that bad!” America snapped when Prussia hunched over and with his fisted hands rubbing his face so as to mimic young Alfred’s crying. The albino’s head snapped up so suddenly that America jumped back into his chair upon seeing the devilish grin.

“That’s right, you weren’t,” Prussia once again settled back into the cushion of his chair and positioned himself in the same pose as before, “But you were still a scared, whiney _m_ _iststück_.”

“If you’re going to curse at me at least do it in English.” America muttered but Prussia took no heed to his comment.

“I came over with General Steuben because the war in Europe was boring; it was the same thing I’ve seen several times before, but in America, well, it was a new and interesting.” His eyes twinkled with excitement at the memory, “I’ll be honest, I expected you to be crushed in cold blood, and I wanted to watch. So as soon as our ship found land I quickly scouted out you and your army.”

“I remember, you were too much of a freeloader, eating our rations and lounging around camp. All the while offering absolutely nothing,” America added, “I think General Washington just stuck you in my tent because he didn’t know how to deal with you.” Prussia smirked in agreement.

“Same to you, you whiney bastard.” He continued, “Who wants to talk to a country who only expresses his fears about the things everyone already knows? I saw you as a weak hearted, young nation who was lucky to last two years on your own against such a powerful empire, but you know what changed my mind? It was when you showed me that you could be just as heartless.” He watched America pale with a satisfied smirk.

“It’s not a memory I’m very proud of.” America admitted.

“You can’t fool me with your fake regret, America, you and I are too similar, too close.”

“Everyone seems to be telling me that lately.”

“This is what I mean, you’re too cynical.” Prussia continued to assert his view, “You attacked fifteen-hundred unprepared men the morning after Christmas!”

“You shouldn’t sound so proud, they were you’re brother’s people.” Prussia just rolled his eyes.

“That’s not the point! Do I have to spell it out for you? You’re a fearsome nation America! What I saw that day was fifteen-hundred _German men_ fleeing in fear from some _lowly_ colonists! You fought a revolution with the British Empire and almost won!”

“Except I didn’t!” America cried much to the German’s surprise, “I didn’t win and now I’m _stuck_ here! I’ve lost everything! My people, my land, I don’t even have a name anymore Prussia! What you’re calling me is just an empty word that will take an insane amount of luck to even appear in the history books! Prussia I-I’m,” He sighed, “I don’t even know how I can say it, but that doesn’t matter, it all just seems so useless.”

“It’s useless because you’re not doing anything about it!” Prussia snapped, “Why won’t you fight America? You have France and I behind your back, we’re just waiting impatiently for you to man up!”

“Because I don’t have time for another war!” America stood abruptly, “Because I’m fighting against my brother! Because my general is in custody and in Yorktown the redcoats were able to escape by sea and most of our supplies were set ablaze. Because the war was dragged on two more weeks than it should’ve been; because two more weeks was all it took for them to starve my army, _my people,_ do you know what it’s like to have food available to _you_ but still feel the hunger of your _men_? I won’t fight, not because I don’t want to, but because I literally can’t, the British have had time enough time to recover; they’re used to war, but the Americans will need a lot longer to get over their humiliation.” America paced into the middle of the room, “I’m trying to hold onto my pride, be the man you trained me to be, but it’s hard when the very word _American_ will from now on be a curse. Can you imagine a day when the children of my land commit suicide because they were rightfully called American? I can, at least now.” After the man’s sudden spiel, Prussia stood and, putting a rough hand on his shoulder, spun America around to face him.

“I refuse to pity you. You’re right, America will be wiped from history and American will be a slander, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to be such a weakling,” Prussia spat, “If you lose, lose with dignity; if you win, rub it into your enemies’ blood-stained faces, but if you won’t fight that’s nobody’s fault but yours, and if this is how you’ll act for the next several centuries you might as well be dead! I helped you because I saw what you truly were meant to be and that was a nation just as awesome as myself. I don’t believe you when you say you can’t fight because I know that you can, I’ve seen it in you.” Prussia wasn’t sure what had struck a chord with America, but he knew something had by the long forgotten spark that lit in America’s eyes. He continued to stare at the deep blue irises with encouragement, hoping that the spark wouldn’t just die out.

“I have been pitying myself a lot, haven’t I?” America muttered as the spark steadily set his mind ablaze with new hope.

“Yes and its irritating so stop for God’s sake.” Prussia’s tone was serious, yet he couldn’t help but smirk, glad he had finally gotten through America’s thick skull.

“But with everything you said, you seem to forget that I chose England. This is just the consequence, isn’t it?” America pointed out, turning to the window to better think. Prussia quickly swept the thought away.

“You obviously made a bad choice, now if _I_ was your brother then you’d have an awesome big brother and never have to worry again.”

“You have a point; scared and lonely children make poor decisions.”

“Glad to see you’re finally coming around.”

“But I wasn’t lying when I said I can’t fight,” America turned and met Prussia’s, again, disappointed look, “Not without Washington anyway. He can get me my army, I know it.”

“Then let’s go get him! You said he was in custody right? Then we’ll just break him out.” Prussia grinned, finally, they were getting somewhere.

“England will notice if I’m gone.”

“Tell him you have a date?” Prussia joked.

“That’d just make him even more agitated,” America smirked, “It’ll be All Hallows Eve then, it’s England’s favorite holiday so he won’t have much time to worry about me.”

“That’s too long of a wait,” Prussia groaned, “But it can’t be helped, we shouldn’t speak again until then.” Prussia turned towards the exit, “I’ll let you deal with the minor planning, but for now I should leave.”

“That’s probably for the best,” America stepped forward to bid him goodbye and was relieved to see the hallway outside empty, “Also, thank you, I needed to be whipped back into shape.”

“Don’t mention it,” Prussia gave him a radiant look, “No matter what _Amerika,_ I’ll always be on your side.”

“Good to know you have my back,” America returned the look with his infamous sun-like grin, “Until the spirits walk the earth then?”

“Until then,” Prussia repeated, he gave a short waive then walked away. Once he heard America’s door swing shut behind him his mirthful expression instantly reshaped itself into one much more vicious.

~*~*~*~*

The Prussian found him in one of the hallways, he couldn’t tell where exactly but that didn’t matter.

“England!” He called with false ego that was undistinguishable from his real one, “You’re my host so it’s only polite if you escort me out!”

“Huh, what the blazes are you still doing here Prussia? You can show yourself out.” England snapped back, “I don’t get why you would think that I’d ever do anything for you.”

“Because I won’t leave if you don’t,” he replied with stubbornness that could match a bull. England stared at him blankly, obviously trying to put a damper on his irritation levels. Then something clicked.

“You got lost didn’t you!” he laughed, “Serves you right you little wanker!”

“I’m _not_ lost! I already told you why I’ve been wandering around!” Prussia defended, “So much for the English’s famed gentlemanly hospitality.”

“I _am_ a gentleman, just not to cocky bastards like yourself.”

“Says the cockiest bastard of them all!” Prussia laughed condescendingly, making England lose his temper yet again.

“Get out of the palace you twat!” he shouted.

“I will if you show me some hospitality,” Prussia clicked his tongue and shrugged, “But at this rate I’ll be here forever.”

“Fine, I’ll show you the door. I’ll make sure to give you the boot as well!” England’s furry eyebrow twitched with annoyance. He turned and stormed in the appropriate direction, “I better not see you back here after this; if I do I’ll feed you to the dogs!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Prussia smirked and followed directly behind, “Temperamental old man.” England whirled around, fuming with anger.

“If you don’t sod off this instant I’ll-,” He stopped when he noticed he was uncomfortably close to the Prussian, which otherwise, would not have been a problem if the man’s demeanor hadn’t changed. Prussia was, surprisingly, a bit taller than England, had he been that way before? England couldn’t remember. A lot of factors went into a country’s height, Prussia was most likely reflecting his military strength which had been growing in recent years. If it weren’t for England’s stubborn pride he would’ve taken a few steps back, but instead he allowed Prussia to look down upon him. He wore a steady smirk but his sanguine eyes reflected his thirst for blood with their color.

“Or you’ll, what? England?” Prussia asked in a steady, threatening tone; he stepped forward, forcing the other back but retaining the same distance, “Feed me to the dogs?”

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” England’s glare met the sardonic gaze.

“I’m solving all my problems with force, just like you.” Prussia continued forcing the former nation to back down the hall with slow, steady steps, “It seems to be a trend these days; of course it’s nothing without me joining in on it.”

“I have no time for your tomfoolery Prussia!” England growled. The albino didn’t reply immediately, instead he stopped his steady movement so abruptly that England was left confused until he realized that the other’s devious smirk had lifted into a diabolical grin. One of the devil himself.

“Which one of us is joking, I wonder?” Prussia returned to walking, but at a faster pace, “ _I_ sure wasn’t when I told you that I would end you.”

“What does this have to do with America?” England hissed, rooting himself to that spot on the ground.

“Oh, so you may not be a gentleman but it seems you’re just as quick witted as they say.” Prussia jeered, “Well, at least you would be if you could figure it out for yourself.”

“I’m not playing your games! Tell me what this has to do with America!” England shouted.

“What _doesn’t_ this have to do with America,” Prussia mocked at the same volume, “You forced him into submission, took him away from his land, and then stripped his name away.”

“I didn’t do any of that! That was my-,”

“Government?” A black gloved hand snatched England by his overcoat and pulled him closer to Prussia’s sneering face, “You’re the _Goddamn island,_ ” England flinched away when he felt Prussia’s hot, acid-like breath, “Act like it.”

“Get off me you insane bastard!” England successfully shoved the Prussian away, the latter took a few steps back but never lost his threatening demeanor. “It’s always been the same between my government and I and it’s gotten me this far!” England continued as he straightened his now wrinkled clothing, “Maybe if you listened to yours more often you’d have a bigger empire.”

“I told you that if you underestimated my empire you would regret it. I think warning you twice now is more than fair.”

“You’re really straining our relations right now, Prussia. Do you really want a war?” As tempting as it was to Prussia, he refrained from affirming England’s suspicions that instant.

“What I want is for you to give back America’s land.” Prussia answered stepping forward to return to his original position.

“What I do with _my_ land is none of your business!” This time England did step back, not out of intimidation but to retain his personal space from the nation that was so obviously a lunatic asking to get pommeled.

“Your land?” the albino scoffed, “I think you’re confused about what your problem is and what’s not, but then again you’ve always been that way.”

“That _is_ my land!” England asserted.

“Oh really? Then tell me, are you sure it was your people who birthed America?” England paused, the French had definitely been to the Americas before he had, and he had heard of the mysterious child from Sweden and Finland. Then there was Christopher Columbus, he was Italian but he worked for Spain. Hell, America could belong to anyone; this revelation struck England with the same kind of fear he’d felt when he read the Declaration of Independence.

“What are you talking about, he’s my brother! That’s proof enough!”

“Then why do you seem so unsure?” Prussia continued to press the thought, “Why would he declare independence if that’s the case?”

“That was my fault!” England answered without thinking, flashes of words appeared before him, _we hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal…_ , “I was too-,” no more words came out, he was lost in a document he had read only once but the letters had scorched his brain, burning him beyond repair. _He has kept among us, in times of peace, standing armies… For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world…our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country…_ He pleaded with his mind to stop, but he remembered anyway, he remembered as he threw the parchment into the fire how he felt the fire in his mind. He remembered how the words continued to repeat even after the paper had turned to ashes. _Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our British brethren…We…in the Name, and by Authority…Solemnly publish and declare…these United Colonies…of Right…to be Free and Independent States… **That they are absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be**... **totally**... **dissolved**..._

“Suffocating?” Prussia suggested with a sadistic smirk brushing across his lips. He enjoyed seeing England in this helpless state, but it was his voice that broke England out of the painful recollection of words, yet, he didn’t answer.

“Haven’t you ever been to America, England?” Prussia continued to prod.

“Of course I have.” England snapped.

“Have you ever seen the eagles?” Prussia asked. England hesitated to answer yet again, he was sure he had but it was hard to recall.

“I’ve seen an eagle, yes.” England became more irritated as Prussia danced around with his questions.

“No, I mean _the_ eagles, the ones in America,” he absentmindedly looked towards the ceiling, “If you haven’t then you need to. Once you see them you’ll realize that birds were truly meant to fly.”

“I’m done playing your mind games,” England stated grimly. His face bore the expression of the great empire that he was supposed to be and indeed was. Prussia looked back at him and couldn’t help but grin.

“Then I’ll get to the point. I have a brother myself, but I would never treat him as terribly as you treat _Amerika.”_ Emerald eyes met with blood-red, both seemingly glowing with hatred, however, while one wore a deadly expression the other never lost his devilish smirk. “I can show myself to the door.” Prussia said at last. He brushed past England, making sure to shoulder him ever so slightly on his way out.

~*~*~*~*

Prussia walked out the palace gates towards a black carriage stopped just outside. When the coachman spotted him he began to climb down from his post and open the carriage door, but Prussia waived him away.

“Make sure the horses are good to go. We’ll be leaving as soon as we can.” He stated as he entered the carriage. Inside, he sat across from a blonde hair and blue eyed boy clad in white. He looked as if he were still in his teens and wore a stoic expression as he stared at the former. “Ah, Holy Rome, you’ve been so quiet I almost forgot you were there.” The albino teased with fake surprise.

“Is he not coming?” the boy asked.

“No, unfortunately you can’t meet him this time,” Prussia sighed, “But you will for sure next month.” The Holy Roman Empire’s stoic expression shifted ever so slightly into a glare.

“You dragged me all the way out here for nothing,” he stated, “I’m not sure if I trust you enough to do it again.”

“You don’t have to be so rotten about it. Call it an adventure if it humors you,” Prussia pouted, “Where’s your sense of adventure huh?”

“Lost, like your sense of humor.” Holy Rome answered, “Brother, where are we going now?”

“To France,” Prussia muttered, “And no, I won’t have you wait in the carriage this time.” The boy seemed satisfied with this answer for he stayed quiet afterwards. The quiet always killed Prussia, slowly, from the inside, but he had learned to keep his mouth mostly shut around Holy Rome, who preferred the peace. The first few minutes of their journey contained an assortment of fidgeting and obnoxious noises in hopes of starting a conversation until, finally, Prussia contented himself to looking out the window at the darkening cerulean sky. It had become a habit to look at the sky, one he had visually adopted from the countless times he’d seen America do the same, and every time he did so he was stricken with the strangest memories. Some he didn’t even realize he remembered, but the one he remembered now was one he treasured and always found pleasure in recalling.

_“What’s your name?”_

_“A-Alfred.”_

_“No not that one, tell me the name you’ve always known you had. Well, why do you hesitate? Spit it out kid.”_

_“America! Sir…”_

_“America? I like how that rings. After I’m done with you, you’re going to be the best Goddamn nation in the world, next to me of course.”_

_“Sir, please, before you leave, I’d like to know your name.”_

_“Hm? It’s Gilbert, but you’ll be calling me General Beilschmidt from now on. Don’t worry yourself, with my training you’ll rise to this position within a year, no, half a year!”_

_“That’s not what I meant, Sir. I also want to know you’re other name, you’re like me, aren’t you?”_

_“You don’t know me?”_

_“Well I’m sure I do! I know all the countries, but only by name and their position on the map. I do hope to learn their faces as well, though.”_

_“Ha! If I tell you, you might die of honor.”_

_“I’m sure that won’t happen…sir.”_

_“Oh? You’re a bit cheeky aren’t you? You know what? Scrap what I said before. My name’s Prussia and you best remember it because that’s what you’ll be calling me from now on.”_

~*~*~*~*

It was well after dinner, possibly even nearing bedtime, but England couldn’t sleep. He wandered the halls until he approached America’s door. Should he knock? He wasn’t sure, but there he was, what had he gone there for if he wasn’t going to knock? His knuckle stopped an inch from the door. _…we hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal…_ he shook his head and knocked on the door out of pure spite for those words. There was a rustling inside and the wooden entrance swung open with a gentle squeal.

“England?” America asked with tired and confused eyes, “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“What are you talking about? This is my palace, remember?” England asked, cold sweat permeating out of the palms of his hands as America glanced around.

“Oh yeah,” he said with a voice that neither showed joy nor disdain, much to England’s relief, “So it is.” England’s eyes glanced past the American and caught the shine of some silver cutlery. Upon the plate laid that night’s dinner, virtually untouched.

“Did you not like dinner?” he asked. America turned briefly to locate the dish, giving England the chance to slip inside the room.

“Ah no, that’s not it,” America yawned, “I was just so tired, I never got to it.”

“I’ll have them make something better tomorrow,” England offered as he picked up the plate, “Or, if you’d like, I can make my scones.”

“Please don’t.” the colony answered immediately. England let out a heavy sigh, looking down despondently at the cold chicken.

“America, we’re brothers, aren’t we?”

“I thought that’s been clear for at least a century now.” America scratched his head, “Though, you act more like a doting mother and it’s kind of irritating.”

“Is that why you declared independence?” England asked sharply.

“What? No. I’d need a better reason than that wouldn’t I?”

“Then why?”

“I sent you a whole letter, didn’t I? I literally spelled it out for you!” Out of frustration, America rested his head upon his forefinger and thumb and scowled, “Look, Britain, I’m tired. We’ll talk more about it another time, I’m not really prepared to have this conversation with you right now.”

“Tomorrow?” England asked.

“It’ll take me a while, okay? Just, later, we’ll stick with that.” America let out an exasperated sigh.

“How long do you expect me to wait? Why is it so hard to say?” England’s heart raced, was it true? Was he related to someone else? Is that why he couldn’t say anything? He had often heard stories of human parents losing their children, if this, this panic and fear he felt, was anything close to what they felt during their loss than it was truthfully the most heart wrenching thing a man could experience.

“Christ England!” America shouted, “What has you so worked up? You’re doting but never this bad!”

“America,” England muttered, he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly to calm his nerves, “You’re right, I’m hurt but I’m also a great nation. I have to keep my composure. I just want to let you know that, well, you’re the only real family I’ve ever had; I just don’t want to lose that. To anything.” His words struck America, he was silent for a moment but, eventually, his expression softened.

“Normally, I’d say you shouldn’t worry so much,” he started with a solemn smile, “But, it’s a little late to be saying those sorts of things.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” England replied in much the same way.

“Go on now, it’s already four thirty in the morning and it doesn’t look like you’ve gotten any rest.” America spoke gently to his older brother as he held open the door. He tried to be gentle with his brother but it seemed futile for the pain in England’s green eyes was evident.

“You’re right, again,” England sighed and strode out into the hallway, but he stopped America before he could lock himself away, “America it seems like all I’ve been doing lately is watching your back, and I think, at one point, it frightened me; I’ll make the first step this time, it won’t fix everything but it’s a start. So here’s my answer, I trust you _and_ your people, I’d trust every single one of them with my life. Now, goodnight, America.”

“Goodnight, England.” America managed to utter in a tone that could pass as just tired, once the Englishman had made his way down the hall America quickly shut his door. Leaning despairingly against the wooden frame he whispered to the black room, “Oh God, none of this should ever have happened.”

**October 31 st, 1783**

_It’s become harder for me to get a good rest lately. I can ask why to confirm my suspicions, but if I prove to be right than I’d rather not talk about it. Sleeplessness, guilt, fear, deterioration, they all go hand in hand. Do I feel guilt? Yes, I’m guilty for losing my place in his eyes. Am I afraid? Yes, stronger than my guilt I am afraid of losing my place in this world. I can’t speak of how I feel, he’d say, “I’ll hear no more of that!” but despite his closed mind, he has the capacity to understand, I’m sure of it. There was once a time when I saw the same look in his eyes as I do when I stand in front of my mirror every morning, but that era is over and words will no longer reach him. Praying seems awfully useless in my situation, yet if God listens I would ask that, if I’m successful my endeavors would not crush him but instead act as a mirror, a reflection of his past, and he’d understand my yearning. You call me selfish, even so, please, don’t hate me._

Blackness, like a warm blanket. It’s darkness surprisingly comforting for being associated with so many malevolent beings. It’s like being a child once again, held by a loved one who heals your days’ wounds and has the ability to erase your past mistakes. It’s black, but surely not like Death’s cloak, tattered and ripped by the souls clutching at his heals. No, it’s like death but much less sinister. It’s life. How oddly God has made these two intertwine in their never-ending dance. Life practices her ballet, alone but free among other forces such as time and space. She glides, never casting a glance at either who desperately claw for her partnership. Then Death enters the stage. She stops, and looks. She prances around him and observes this force she has never encountered, or has she? Sometimes Death allows her to watch him. He’ll approach her tenderly, knowing full well how intimidating he can be and wishes not to scare her. He takes her hand and kisses it with a breath of ice, then sweeps her up in a dance where neither partner knows where they’re feet are going but somehow the performance is perfect.

“America.”

Other times, such as this one, he’s impatient and, ready for the curtain to fall, he’ll seize her tiny arm and force her to act as he wishes. Her solo becomes a duet, but even so her once awe-inspiring steps have become long forgotten and swallowed by the black boots of the gentleman before her. He means no harm, he assures her, but as her blue eyes peer into his green she is unsure. He slips his arm around her waist and tilts her so that she can no longer stand and, in surprised desperation, she clutches at his forearm, hanging for dear life. The performance is over, but there is no clap from the single viewer in the row of millions of seats. Yes, it was astounding, so much so that it had left him fearful. He wishes he had brought a friend, or even a family member, but alas they are all busy in their own theaters, catching glimpses of what is right in front of them. Quickly, the single audience member leaves, but before he reaches the door he glances back only to see the actors hadn’t left their final position; they had turned to stone! Weathered, cracking stone that had already seen centuries, their pupils black and hollowed and the delicate fingers of their hands all but fallen off. Yet, the details of the stone had been carved with finesse by someone of great skill that went far beyond the abilities of Michelangelo for Life stared at the last living member of the room with an expression of eternal terror.

“America get up.”

The doors all flung open at once. It was summer for a moment and songs of patriotism filled the air with bursts of colors. The audience member reached for that warmth in a desperate attempt to leave the desolate theater, but as he stepped outside the summer air became cold and the songs were replaced with cries of anguish. Then came the steady sound of thunder followed by sparks and the shouts of men came from mechanical containers painted the color of a forest that was no longer there. There was a deafening ticking, so loud that the man covered his ears and screamed so that perhaps his own vocal chords would drown out the noises around him. His shrieking cracked the glass all around him and he fell into freezing temperatures.

America’s body gave a violent shake, signaling his entrance into consciousness much to England’s delight, but when the colony’s eyes snapped open they locked onto the fabric in his hands and snatched it away quick as lightning and he fell with a heavy thunk back into the mattress.

“Give me back my covers you damn old man.” Came a muffled mutter whose irritation was not left unnoticed.

“America I did not raise you to be this lazy,” England ripped the comforter once again off his brother’s exhausted figure, “It’s nearly noon already.”

“What the hell are you doing waking me up before noon?” America hissed away from the light and, using one hand to cover his eyes, clutched fruitlessly at the air about him for his shield to battle against the fiery demons coming in from the open window. England sighed and folded the comforter in his arms.

“I know full well you’re not a morning person,” he said as he placed the blanket on top of the writing desk at the other corner of the room, “So I’m having the cooks prepare you’re breakfast. When it comes, you’re welcome to eat in here, but for now I’ve brought some tea to help warm you up.” He motioned to a gilded platter on top of the nightstand.

“I was perfectly warm _before_ you ruined it with your grubby hands.” America growled in response.

“My God America, it’s like you’re a completely different person in the morning,” England humored at the poor boy and strode over and shut the curtains, in which he received a pleased grunt. He then headed for the tea and, carefully holding the still hot kettle, he poured a small cup quickly and efficiently. Meanwhile America groaned himself into a sitting position, yawning profusely and rubbing his bloodshot eyes. “I hope you know that it took everything I could think of to wake you, you slept so still that for a moment I contemplated that you might be dead!” England chuckled, “What could you have possibly been dreaming about?”

“Would you believe me if I said ballet?” America answered with a lighthearted smirk dancing on his still unpleased features. Slowly, but surely, he was transferring from that dream world into reality. Though, the difference remains to be seen.

“You’ve been spending too much of your time with that French bastard.” England scolded, teacup and kettle still in hand, “I suppose you’ll start asking for coffee now as well?”

“Why yes, if you keep any.”

“Of course I do, but you’re not getting any until you learn to appreciate this first,” England shoved the cup into the other’s hands, “You’re lucky to be getting any of it from me after you threw it all into the harbor!” America looked down at the bitter green cup of tea in his hands with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re missing, Britain.” He said slowly, his grip on the cup tightened as he attempted to retain his composure, “You might not have found it funny but the colonists and I thought it was quite the par _ty._ ” Silence fell. England had never given America such a disapproving glare than he did at that moment. What kind of disappointment have I raised? He thought to himself as his eyes bored like beams into the idiot grinning to himself quietly looking down at the cup of tea. He set the kettle down with a loud clatter. He could see it now, in the court of the king next to George III, America sent to the children’s schools. America, so inadequate! He must, of course, reflect the inadequacies of his caretaker! Woe to the day! A tragedy that, as a play, could upstand Macbeth itself. “Oh Queen Elizabeth who doth roll in her grave, tell me my shortcomings for I hath wronged my legacy in terms of wit. He doth not know even the basics of maths or science and the only English of which he may be familiar of is that of which he speaks, few words as it may be!” Or so the dialogue would go.

“America I swear, if you ruin my good mood on this perfect holiday I will gladly squeeze out all the air from your lungs until every last fiber of your being is shriveled. Then I will dump you in the gutter where the rats can have their way with what is left of you.” He stared down at the American until his idiotic grin faded, which wasn’t quickly.

“I know,” America said at last, looking towards the covered window, “But, Britain, I don’t much care for this holiday. We never really celebrated it at my home.”

“Not yet. Once you colonies learn how great this holiday is it’ll catch on quickly.” The Englishman retorted, “Believe me.”

“If you say so,” came a doubtful reply. America watched carefully as England straightened out minor details of the room that had lacked “proper” attention. He took a drawn out sip of the bitter tasting tea only to immediately reach for the sugar jar.

“I can take black coffee, Britain, but how the hell do you drink this without making it into liquefied sugar?”

“What did I say about my mood, America?”

“Not that, erm, liquefied sugar is bad or anything.” After America had used half of the contents in the sugar jar, he successfully turned the potion of death into a pleasantly sweet beverage. He took another sip and continued to watch his brother somewhat nervously; his dream had shaken him, though he didn’t wish to admit it. That stone face still plagued his mind. Eyes wide with fear and mouth agape like it had been hooked too soon for the poor girl to let out a scream. Had he seen a tear? Yes, the detail was fine but the beauty of a single drop of water trailing down the girls face had been evident. He gently swirled the liquid inside the cup by moving his wrist in small circles. Christ, if he hadn’t felt so terrified he could’ve studied the expression of the woman’s partner!

“What’s that?” He heard England mutter quietly to himself. England had since picked up the comforter and the black, leather bound book had caught his attention. Holding the neatly folded blanket in his arms, he studied it with minor curiosity before crossing the room and neatly placing it on the foot of the bed.

“England,” America said in a barely audible whisper. England was taken by surprise, America had various nicknames for him but he scarcely used the more personal term. In fact, he only used it when being especially serious, which was hardly ever.

“Hm? What is it?” The Englishman asked without showing a hint of his concern. If he was too serious about it then wouldn’t America decide to retract whatever statement he was about to make? He’s been like that much too often as of late. England waited patiently for a reply, pretending to pat down the corners of the blanket and make the folds perfect. America stopped swirling his tea and hesitated. He didn’t want to give anything away, but he would be fine as long as he didn’t share any details, right?

“Would you believe me if I told you that it was a vision? My dream, I mean.” England shot an incredulous look at America, who refused to meet his gaze and instead favored to entertain himself with the intricacies of the porcelain in his hands. England had thought the boy had no potential for the magic sorts. Despite being his direct bloodline, America had lacked the ability to see mythical creatures since he’d been a child. England had taken it as another sign that perhaps the relation between himself and America was not as direct as he had thought, a paranoia that had much since passed, but there seemed to be hope for him yet.

“A vision huh? Well I can’t say I expected much less.” Both heads, feeling a surprising sense of déjà vu, turned towards the door. Scotland had rather impolitely invited himself in. He smirked with his arms folded across his chest, looking at the pair almost condescendingly; or was that just England?

“Scotland you twat,” England straightened his posture and faced towards the Scotsman, “What the hell are you doing just waltzing into America’s room like that?” he growled with his signature, annoyed glare.

“I came to get America.” Scotland replied with a sneer.

“America is not _your_ responsibility.” England snarled back

“Last I checked he could take care of himself, England, but relax, we’re all family here aren’t we? Besides, I didn’t come to have tea and crumpets like you have, I just came to tell him to get his lazy arse out of bed.” During his sentence his eyes had drifted to the other blonde. Looking at the still dead-tired America he couldn’t help but smirk slightly, “You heard that didn’t ya’?”

“Yeah, yeah.” America let out a yawn, “I’m working on it, I don’t get why you both are so excited. The sun hasn’t even begun to set.” He brought his cup up to his lips for one final swallow of liquidized sugar then leaned to set it down on its respective tray.

“Just because it’s not dark yet doesn’t mean there’s nothing to do,” England sighed and turned his attention back to Scotland, when he spoke he did so in a much kinder tone than America had ever heard the two converse with, “Is either Wales or Ireland coming this year?”

“I haven’t heard anything from either of them.” Scotland spoke as if England and he had never fought a day in their lives, a change not missed by America as he looked on with confusion. “Typical slackers.” Scotland spat.

“I’m sure they’ll come.” England asserted, “Come, we should leave America to get ready for the day.” He turned to America and gave him a nod to signal his exit. As he passed Scotland the two seemed to share a quiet stare of mutual disliking, but it lacked the anger behind it that America had seen many other times. The air around them was unusually awkward, as if both the nations were torn between giving a polite smile and punching each other in the face. England, reluctant to break the not-quite-glare, finally continued on his way out the door which shut behind him like a heavy weight.

“What was that?” America asked the remaining red-head as he slipped out of his silk sheets.

“What do ya’ mean? It seemed like a normal conversation to me.” Scotland stuck his hands in his pockets, obviously oblivious to the air that once filled the room. Perhaps he was just used to encounters like that.

“That’s what I mean, don’t you two hate each other? Or have I completely misread the situation all this time.” America yawned once more as he sauntered tiredly to his wardrobe. Upon opening the heavy casing he took out the first outfit he found, which of course England had bought for him. America marveled at the garments that filled the once empty wardrobe. England literally had a castle full of servants, but still, unless he was too busy, he insisted on going to town and retrieving these himself. To America, it was both admirable and burdensome.

“Oh, that,” Scotland shifted his weight while he gathered the best way to describe their odd holidays while America shut the wooden door on his thoughts and placed down his item neatly on the bed, “Well, most humans have a holiday where their families come together. For us, it’s today.” Scotland spoke slowly, as if wondering himself how things came to be as they are, “There was a time when we used to fight and bicker, but all four of us have such a passion for this day that, eventually, it became an unspoken law that today and today only we would be a family.” He scratched the back of his head a little bit sheepishly, the word ‘family’ not quite settling well on his tongue, “But even that doesn’t change the fact that on any other day there’s no way we can be in a room together.” He ended with a lighthearted chuckle. The reality that none of them could get along was almost sad, or at least it would be if he gave a damn.

“So that’s it.” America’s heart ached. Of course on this important day he had plans to stab his brother in the back, again. _How could I have known?_ He tried to justify, _It’s not like Britain was ever around this time of year._

“Don’t feel so left out, lad,” Scotland added upon seeing America’s pained expression, “He always wanted to spend today with you, but he was obligated to be here.”

“It’s alright, I understand,” America feigned a smile. If only he could tell Scotland how much he had _not_ helped him feel any less guilty. “You better catch up with Britain, at this rate I’ll be the last to show up.”

“Right, well when you’re finished meet us in the dining room.” Scotland nodded a peaceful goodbye then parted as quietly as he’d come. America looked dolefully at the shiny new suit of clothes. Had he known that today was such an important day then he never would’ve-no, that’s not true. He knew now, and still the plan was in motion. That’s just the kind of country he was, and sometimes, he hated it. America continued to get ready as promised; the breakfast England had mentioned earlier arrived but he gave it little regard and, with a kind smile, told the servant girl she was welcome to do whatever she pleased with the fine dish. True to his prediction, America arrived to the room filled with voices and the image of four nations getting along, well, best they could anyway. America quietly stepped in, his heart raced to meet his other family members but he hadn’t yet come up with a way to greet them.

He recognized England, placing in an array some sort of pale objects, which America could only guess were some sort of vegetables, across the dining table, immediately. On the other side of the room, next to the lit fireplace, he found Scotland. Teeth clenched and hands gripping the arms of his chair, Scotland looked irritably at a board placed on an oval coffee table. The board was large, sticking out from the table at its ends, and was numbered at least to sixteen, from what America could see. Sitting across from Scotland was another man who was leaning forward and grinning vexingly at the Scotsman. His shoulder length hair was the color of burnt umber, brown but with an obvious hint of red, and was fashioned in a way that, though it was much messier, reminded America of France. _England would choke if he knew I thought that,_ America humored before he continued to study the man. His eyes shone with the usual green, but brighter than England’s they were more like a grassy plane. Next to him stood another unfamiliar face, sipping on tea with a stoic expression was a strawberry blonde whose lopsided haircut suited him surprisingly well and actually served to make him look neater than the other two. He looked upon the board with eyes showing a striking verdigris, a vibrant green color tinged lightly with blue which made his stare all the more unnerving.

“Ha!” exclaimed the France-like stranger with a grin, “Another win for me it seems, I’ll be taken those precious pounds off your hands now.”

“Dammit,” Scotland begrudgingly pulled out several silver coins and roughly handed them over, “That was cheap. How could I lose so many times in a game of chance?”

“I told you that you would.” The blonde muttered a bit too quietly for his voice was lost in the snarky remarks of the other stranger.

“What can I say?” He tossed his income up in the air and caught it again, his grin never faltering, “It’s the luck of the Irish.”

“I’m sure, now if only you had this much luck in politics. Then maybe you wouldn’t need to be gambling for scraps of money.” As soon as the offense left Scotland’s lips Ireland slammed his hands on the board, leaning across the table so that he was uncomfortably close to the Scotsman.

“I dare you to say that again, bud.” His lips were widened in a smile but his glare was fuming as he glowered down at the other.

“Alright, if you insist,” Scotland, who had refused to back down sneered back up at Ireland, “You’re so dirt poor that you might as well make your potatoes currency.”

“Would you two-ah! America!” England’s exclamation broke the tension as all eyes in the room snapped towards the doorway. Ireland straightened himself into a more welcoming posture and waived, all traces of anger seemingly disappeared.

“Oh, so this is the New World I’ve heard so much about. America, huh?” He smiled as he looked the American up and down, “From everything I’ve heard I thought you’d be taller.”

“I’m plenty tall enough for a cluster of colonies,” America grinned back as he approached Ireland, “Now if I was in fact the whole New World, I’m afraid I’d be a giant.” Ireland paused to size up the colony. America waited in nervous anticipation, however his lighthearted expression never faltered. Even though he knew that none of the nations in the room could get along he still held an unlikely hope that he would be able to easily fit in. At last, Ireland stuck out a welcoming hand which the other eagerly took.

“Fair enough,” Ireland nodded as they shook hands, “Welcome to the Isles, America, name’s Ireland. It’s nice to finally have a holiday where England isn’t whining about you.”

“I do not whine!” the country in question interjected. Ignoring him, Ireland stepped aside to reveal the strawberry blonde who had since put down his tea cup.

“That’s Wales,” he gave America a light push in the nation’s direction then plopped back down into his armchair, “Go on, he’s quiet but he’s not disagreeable.”

“Ah, right,” America offered his hand along with his signature smile, “It’s nice to meet you, both of you.”

“Same to you.” Wales muttered in a quiet reply, his stoic expression never altering. He stared right into America’s eyes, making him glad to turn away when a distraction was provided.

“Now,” Ireland addressed to Scotland with his usual sly grin, “Seeing as you’re so sour about losin’ how about we play Hijinks? That’s your game, right? I could go for seeing you acting the maggot.”

“I’ll have no such tomfoolery in my house,” England interrupted yet again, this time in a way that none could avoid, “Besides, we’ve got work to do. Gather around, all of you.” With plenty of mumbling and grumbling, coming mainly from Scotland and Ireland, the four collected around the table with England at the head.

“England, why have you lined up a load of turnips?” Scotland asked as he jabbed at one of the colorless vegetables, “Have you finally gone completely mental?” _So that’s what they are._ America thought. He picked one up and weighed it in his hand, he was sure he had come across them at least once before but he had no memory of it. Probably because they tasted just as bad as anything England cooked and were now associated with some childhood vegetable trauma in the back recesses of his brain. He silently prayed that he wouldn’t have to eat it and relive that tragedy.

“Why is it that every time you open your mouth I have to tell you to shut it?” England growled at him then, turning to the others he said in a much gentler voice “Considering America is here this year I figured we could start a new tradition to commemorate the event. It’s high time we had a new one anyway.”

“That’s fine and all but what does eating turnips have to do with All Hallows Eve?” Ireland questioned in a doubtful tone. For a split second, America panicked.

“We’re not eating them you twit,” Thank God for the blessed words coming out of England’s mouth, “We’re carving them, I believe the children called it a Hoberdy’s Lantern. It seemed fun enough so I had them teach me how.”

“And what good does that do?” Scotland murmured as he pondered the thought. The countries were reluctant to follow England’s insane spur. Cutting up a vegetable seemed like just a waste of time and hardly a useful one.

“We’re going to use them as a sort of charm, to ward off evil spirits.” England explained, a statement that immediately caught America’s attention.

“Then what are we waiting for?” He enthusiastically picked up one of the supplied tools, “Let’s get started.”

“See, America likes the idea,” England beamed, “Now whether or not you lazy sods like it, we’re carving these turnips.”

“How is it done?” Wales who had been patiently ignoring the group’s unhelpful arguments finally spoke up.

“It’s simple, really,” England grabbed a knife and mimicked the movements as he explained, “First you cut off the bottom so it won’t get away from you, then you cut a lid off the top and hollow out the insides with a paring knife, and finally you cut a face into it.”

“Wait, so we carve out any face?” Scotland inquired, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Do you lack so much common sense that you’d have to ask?”

“I was just checking,” Scotland grinned with new found excitement as he rolled up his sleeves, “Maybe this won’t be such a bad idea after all.”

“It looks amusin’ enough for me.” Ireland easily sliced off the top and bottom of his pallid vegetable. It didn’t take long for the five countries-and colony- to get absorbed in their own artistic works. They conversed only enough to bicker over shared tools or to make fun of the turnips’ disfigured features but most the time was surprisingly spent in quiet concentration.

“England,” Wales addressed after a long period of diligent cutting, “Why does America have blue eyes?” England’s hand slipped and he shoved the knife a tad too far into the root’s eye; he wasn’t prepared for that question.

“Uh, well,” he stumbled for an answer. _If I admit that America is partially related to that frog I’ll never hear the end of it,_ he reasoned, _I can see his smug face now; I’ve got to think up something._

“Because that’s the color of the sky,” came a voice from across the table. England looked up to see America blankly staring down at his artwork, “And in this world the sky, whose expanse is so great, has no limitations.” The American’s eyes refocused and he glanced up at the people around him, aware of their gazes. “That’s what England used to say, anyway.” He chuckled nervously in an attempt to make the situation more humorous. The room was much too quiet for his liking.

“Ah, you remember that?” England’s expression softened considerably accompanied by a nostalgic smile. America nodded almost shyly.

“Well, yeah,” he laughed, “I was the one who asked after all.” Scotland looked at from one end of the table to the other. He could imagine the two years ago, England holding the young American who curiously reached out to prod at his brothers face. Bright, green eyes staring, just staring, into another pair with a slightly darker shade. The memory was uncalled for, but it hit him with enough shock so that he dropped his knife.

“Careful there, Scotland. You’re gonna cut somebody’s eye out!” Ireland joked.

“Shut up!” Scotland replied bending down to pick up the sharp tool. While the table blocked the others’ sight of him he shook his head, thinking to himself, _don’t lose your composure now, not after all these years._ “I need a smoke.” He announced once he pulled himself back up and dropped the knife back on the tabletop with a clatter, “I’ll be out for a moment.”

“Alright, but don’t through your buds in the pond anymore!” England scorned at the retreating Scotsman, “It’s a pain for the servants to clean.”

“Whatever you say, _your majesty.”_ England might’ve replied to that, but as soon Scotland opened the door to leave a wave of silver burst in.

“ _Amerika!”_ Prussia cheered as he went directly to greet the American, a young blonde boy following close behind as well as an out of breath William.

“Oh God no, Prussia who let you in?” England snapped, “I thought I made it clear he wasn’t welcome here anymore, William.”

“Yes, Master Kirkland, I tried but,” William panted, “Sir Beilschmidt invited himself in, I’ve been chasing him all over the blasted palace!” England turned to the albino who had eagerly struck up a conversation with America as if rules and regulations meant nothing.

“Prussia,” England marched over to the man, “I want you to leave.”

“Why? I’m not doing any harm!” Prussia grinned pridefully, “If anything, I’m blessing you with my presence!”

“You’re in my house, uninvited, again!” England cried. There was no getting through the German’s thick skull.

“I’m celebrating the holiday with _Amerika,_ ” the Prussian prodded, making sure to let his endearing accent slip just enough to get under England’s skin, “There’s no law against that, is there?”

“You’re breaking and entering you gormless cunt!”

“Correction, just entering. It’s a dumb law anyway, who needs privacy?”

“Now, now, England,” Ireland came to the other side of the table, “Don’t lose the rag. Instead of making America celebrate his first All Hallows Eve with a group of strangers it might be good to let these two stay.” He motioned to Prussia and the boy that had come with him.

“Nothing good will come out of Prussia, trust me.” England rebutted.

“Either way I’m not leaving!” Prussia laughed in defiance.

“You little-,”

“England,” Ireland placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder as he continued to reason, his voice taking on a darker quality, “I’ll be straight with you, instead of losing your temper it would be easier just to let it go. Don’t you agree?” As he spoke he gave a nod towards Wales, at that point England understood what he meant. Out of his three brothers, Wales was the least likely to put up with England’s quick temper. He could get along fine with Scotland and Ireland but when it came to England he was rather quick to set off and his rage was something better left alone.

“Damnit, you’re right,” England scratched the back of his head, “Grab a turnip, Prussia and, erm, whoever that is.” He mumbled a few more inaudible words and retreated to hack up more of the poor vegetable.

“Ah, he’s so quiet I almost forgot about him!” Prussia snickered, “ _Amerika,_ this is my brother, Holy Rome.” He pulled the small nation closer for America to properly greet.

“Nice to meet you,” America smiled politely. He hadn’t ever met Holy Rome before, come to think he hadn’t met any states that compromised the Holy Roman Empire except Prussia who still only lived there for half the time, if that. He had his own kingdom to run after all. The other states he had a biased disliking towards, mainly because they had sent troops, mercenaries as he referred to them in the declaration, to Britain for the war. But he was willing to let bygones be bygones nonetheless, he held out his hand for the smaller German to take. The Holy Roman Empire took his hand and shook it briefly out of a mutual politeness. Keeping his expression as apathetic as it had always been, he stared at America with pale azure eyes. Stared deep into his soul, and said:

“Give me my brother back.”

“What?” America looked down at the boy with a blank expression. What on earth was this kid talking about? It’s not like he had kidnapped Prussia or anything of the sort. He turned to the taller German for some sort of explanation but only saw a pair of panicked ruby eyes directed at Holy Rome.

“Personally,” the boy continued, “I don’t care if you live with us, but ever since Brother has come back from the Americas you’re the only conversation topic he seems to remember, besides himself of course. There’s always more room for his ego. I’m saying this for the sake of the other household members, Prussia is not your personal propaganda. Please tell him to stop before Austria sews my brother’s mouth shut in his sleep.”

“Ah, that reminds me of someone.” Ireland commented. With an amused smile he glanced at England who instantly took a defensive.

“Oh shut up!” was all the flustered nation had to say on the subject.

“Really?” America continued to look at Prussia in a displeased fashion until the albino broke out in a hysteric of nervous laughter.

“Cute, isn’t he? Excuse me,” Prussia placed his hands on Holy Rome’s sides and easily hoisted him up. The smaller nation, responding much like a rag doll would, was placed in front of a turnip and given a knife to entertain himself with; which he immediately took advantage of as if he had forgotten the conversation altogether. Seeing as the entertainment was over, the five continued sauntered back to their respective places. Prussia situated himself between America and his brother and soon the room fell back into the silent carving and occasional bickering.

“You haven’t told anyone, have you?” America asked Prussia in a low voice without looking away from his project. He knew any mention of their plan should be saved for a private conversation, but he had the added distraction of a quarrel England and Ireland had broken into so he figured a vague mention was acceptable.

“I’ve been with France since I last saw you, so it wouldn’t matter,” Prussia replied in the same fashion, “He wanted to come but-,”

“It would’ve been too suspicious,” America finished. Prussia nodded slightly in agreement.

“Holy Rome knows though, he’s offered to help.”

“You really want to get him involved in this?” America cast the small blonde a sideways glance.

“He’ll be fine, _Amerika,_ he can take care of himself.”

“It’s just-,”

“And done!” the Prussian announced loudly. He triumphantly held out his turnip for all to see, “It’s yours truly.” He grinned from ear to ear, proud of his masterpiece self-portrait.

“Oh my God, it’s hideous! Forget about Ireland’s rubbish, your capacity for art is simply non-existent.” England’s statement was the truth. The pale vegetable was horribly sculpted with disproportionate eyes and a crooked grin. It was apparent that what Prussia had in military planning he outright lacked in artistic finesse. Although, if he had time to finish it, it might’ve been acceptable, but he needed an excuse to end his conversation quickly. During that brief interaction a nosy rat had taken interest. As Prussia defended himself in fake offense at the crude remarks he was receiving, he looked over the opposition. His sanguine eyes narrowed and rested upon the quieter English speaking nation.

“Wales was it? What do you think?” he asked.

“Think of what?” The strawberry blonde looked as if he hadn’t been paying attention at all, but Prussia knew otherwise.

“My lantern of course, what else?” the two made eye contact. Prussia’s stare containing the hidden message, _what do you think of what you heard?_

“It’s fine.” Wales answered almost instantly without even glancing at the object. _Good,_ Prussia thought, he hoped the small nation wasn’t lying. After all, he wasn’t there to make more enemies or cause any more trouble than he had to, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. He also made a mental note to smack America later for almost ruining the whole plan.

“See, he thinks its fine!” Prussia turned back to the rest of the table.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Ireland shrugged, finally giving a consentful answer to the German’s art skills.

“Are we all finished here?” England glanced around to see if anyone was still carving, ah, he had almost forgot, “Where the blazes is Scotland? How long’s it been?”

“It looks like he went out after those two came crashing in,” Ireland chuckled as he left the table, “He probably got lost, I’ll go bring him back.”

“That idiot, I doubt he’s lost. He’s probably having fun ruining my gardens.” England groaned at the thought.

“England, you always forget, Scotland is the best gardener you have! If he wants to ruin the plants he raised himself, you should let him.” Ireland gave England a knowing smile, “I’ll be back.”

~*~*~*~*

Scotland stood still, a cigarette that had long since died out still hung from his lips. The garden that was usually a getaway only served to trap him deeper in his memories. It had been a long time since he thought of the past, he had refused to recall it; now, he couldn’t shake it away. He was forced to watch as the garden around him transformed into the lush green forest of his home. The scene around him became awfully familiar with the smells of damp soil and the sound of rustling leaves, and he could even feel the crisp chill air fill his lungs with every breath he took. With quick, light steps he remembered walking briskly through the trees, they were tall then but, if he could see them again, they would probably be enormous for the memory took place over half a millennia ago.

_“Big Brother!” A voice scurried after him, unable to keep up with his fast pace, “Big Brother!”_

_“Go away!” Scotland growled as he kept the same speed despite the little one’s calls._

_“Big Brother wai-ahhh!” The child’s small foot caught on a tree root and he fell face first into a mixture of dirt and leaves. Scotland paused at the sudden distress, he turned to see England sprawled out on the ground, unmoving. He let out an angry groan and strode back towards the child._

_“Hey, get up,” Scotland nudged the body with his foot, “You didn’t die did ya’?”_

_“Oww Scotwand. It hurts.” England whined with his signature mispronunciation. It infuriated Scotland to no end when he heard it, but there was nothing he could do. The apraxia seemed to run in the family, he too had problems with pronunciation once upon a time._

_“Well maybe if you got your face out of the dirt you would feel better,” Scotland grabbed the back of the child’s dark green cloak and effortlessly lifted up the body. England sniffled and pouted as he dangled off the ground. Scotland gave him a displeased look and set him on his feet, “There, now quit your cryin’ and go home.” He put a hand on the small of the child’s back and shoved him forward. England stumbled in the direction only to turn around and come running back._

_“No, Scotwand, don’t leave me here!” He cried, clinging to his brother’s leg._

_“God kid, what’s your deal? Do you ever leave me alone? Why can’t you harass Ireland or Wales for a change?” Scotland attempted to pull England off his leg but the child clung to him like a leech. Seeing as it was no use, he let out an agitated sigh, “If I take you out of the forest will you go home?” he heard a sniffle then saw the small blonde head mimic a nod. Though the leech dispatched itself from Scotland’s leg and took up a position beside him during their walk back, England still clutched at Scotland’s deep blue cloak as if he expected the older nation to bound off at a moment’s notice. After an eternity of walking in silence, an eternity for a child that is, England finally said what was on his mind._

_“Big brother? Why are your eyes darker than mine?”_

_“What are you on about?” Scotland snapped, he was tired of this kid always bringing up things that didn’t matter, “We both have green eyes so quit complaining.”_

_“But yours are darker,” England pointed out, “I want mine to be like yours!” Scotland couldn’t hide his fluster. He hated to admit it, but the boy’s complaint warmed his heart, if only a little. ‘Damn kid,’ he thought, scratching the back of his head sheepishly._

_“Ah, well, come here England,” Scotland stopped and sat against the nearest try, pulling the boy into his lap, “My eyes are dark green, like the forest. Now tell me, what do you see?” England gave his brother a skeptical look before surveying his surroundings._

_“Trees,” he answered simply, “They’re all around us.”_

_“See?” Comforting wasn’t Scotland’s strong suit but he was doing the best he could. England was only a child after all, it should be fairly easy. He continued to speak slowly while looking directly at the child to make sure he understood, “Now if my eyes are the color of the forest and yours are the color of emeralds than maybe it’s not such a bad thing. I’ll tell ya’, emeralds are a hell of a lot more useful than trees.” Unfortunately, England wasn’t fully convinced._

_“You think?” He asked in a voice that bordered in-between belief and skepticism._

_“Do you always ask your brothers things and then not believe them?” Scotland grumbled in irritation. England was really beginning to test his patience with all of the following and the questions and all the perfectly normal things that perfectly normal children do. He hated it; he was always tempted to say things like ‘When I was a child I didn’t follow anyone around like a lost lamb,’ or ‘Go figure it out for yourself, when I was your age that’s what I had to do,’ he refrained from using phrases that made him seem old. Besides, he had been able to deal with Ireland without using them, so surely he could deal with a brighter, more intelligent child such as England in the same manner. Ireland was such a pain in the arse._

_“Of course not!” England replied defensively._

_“Then just trust me.” Scotland continued to make eye contact as the child stared back at him curiously._

_“Big Brother?” he started._

_“What now?”_

_“Promise me you’ll never leave.”_

_“What? I can’t promise that,” Scotland sighed, what the hell was running through this kid’s head? Upon seeing the broken face of the child on his lap he figured his answer would need some explaining, “Kids like you are supposed to grow up ya’know, it’d be a hassle for both you and me if you always had to hold my hand.”_

_“Promise.” England demanded again. He rejected Scotland’s reasoning with a defiant, emerald-eyed, gaze._

_“No. Get off.”_

_“Promise!”_

_“Fine you little brat!” Scotland drew in a deep, shaky breath to damper his temper. He looked down at the pleading eyes in utter defeat, “I promise.”_

~*~*~*~*

“I’m such an idiot.” Scotland whispered quietly to himself aloud, though he didn’t seem to notice.

“If you keep standing there like that the birds are going to think you’re a perch.” An irritating voice chased away the scene of the past and Scotland was left standing in the garden as he had before.

“Ireland,” the Scotsman turned to face him, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to get you, you’ve been out here for a while now ya’know.” Ireland leaned against a white painted garden arch that was almost overflowing with honey suckle, “If I didn’t know you any better than I’d say that you’d gone astray somewhere.”

“Good thing you don’t then.” Scotland muttered, being lost in memories wasn’t something he’d want to admit, especially to Ireland of all people. He casually strolled over to a rose bush and pretended to check the leaves, hoping to give the illusion that he had just been tending to the plants this whole time, though, he already knew he couldn’t fool the other nation like that. Ireland was an idiot who always got on his nerves, but Scotland knew better than anyone that those bright green eyes held some wit behind them. Ireland waited patiently for Scotland to finish his routine checking, the leaves were a lush green and the buds had bloomed to their prime. Scotland was pleased to see that the vibrant shade of red hadn’t lost its color for nearly a month and still looked as young and fresh as ever, but they weren’t perfect. A single petal had begun to wilt, showing a disgusting brown color among the lively red. What a disappointment. He stood and, taking the cigarette from his mouth, threw it into the soil below the bush.

“Didn’t England say not to ruin his garden?” Ireland pushed himself off the arch, stepping nearer to examine the criminal spot himself. He regarded it with a pondering expression; it looked fine to him, the brown was barely noticeable. In fact, if Scotland hadn’t been staring woefully at the blemish he never would’ve found it.

“Actually, he said not to throw my trash in the pond, I can wreck this bush if I want to.” Scotland corrected, still looking dolefully upon the lovely red roses.

“Hm,” Ireland frowned slightly, a rare occurrence for such a blithe nation. Scotland didn’t like anyone to know he was fond of greenery; for the longest time he had tried to keep it a secret from his brothers, but Ireland knew. He distinctly remembered when they were both young how he would hide and watch Scotland tend to several different types of plants. They always grew up wonderfully back then, but now it seemed as if they could never be good enough and Ireland couldn’t help but feel a tad saddened. Scotland always had odd habits, but this one seemed hardly worth the effort, even for someone like him. “Scotland,” he questioned, “Why do you always try to get rid of the flowers you grow?”

“Because,” the redhead’s brow came together in an angry scowl and his line of sight never shifted by even a centimeter, “They never grow up right.”

“Ah, so that’s it,” it took everything Ireland had not to laugh, not a humorous one but one of sardonic empathy. Somehow he managed to stifle the sound that surely would’ve led to a beating, but he couldn’t contain his knowing grin, “Poor Scotland, let me teach you something for a change.” He reached over to the rose in question and with a decisive snap he broke the beautiful flower off its stem, “If you want to get rid of it, you gotta pluck it.” He offered it to Scotland who took the gesture as a mockery and slapped the rose out of his hand. It flew, bright red and radiant against the cerulean sky, then plummeted to the pavement with a soundless landing. The petals crumbled and sprawled out over the pathway like drops of blood.

“I know,” Scotland glowered at Ireland, “But I just don’t have the heart.”

“Well, I s’pose it can’t be helped then,” Ireland shrugged. All hints of meaning in his voice was gone as if the conversation they just had bore no significance at all. But the same grin from before still plastered on his face gave proof of the nation’s understanding. “Forget about it,” he said cheerfully, “Let’s just head back.”

“Fine, I couldn’t talk to you for another second anyway,” Scotland growled in response. He also preferred to act like nothing had happened. Ireland was the last person on the planet, other than England, he wished to share anything personal with, he just happened to get caught at a bad time. He motioned for Ireland to head back, “lead the way.”

~*~*~*~*

After Scotland’s return, whom of which was greeted with England’s incessant naggings, the countries agreed to gather at the castle gates. The reason still confusing for most of them but, as ridiculous as it was, if they weren’t going to display the vegetables at the entrance of St. James’s palace for all the world to see than what? How could they let all that hard work go to waste? As much as any of them would hate to admit, England’s new, crazy idea was growing on them. Prussia looked fondly at his deformed self-portrait and every once in a while Scotland would take a peek at his own sculpture, which he had covered with a cloth, and snort with laughter causing everyone around to look at him curiously. England ordered the guards to open the gate with a swift motion of his gloved hand and the heavy doors swung forward revealing the back of someone who, at first, flinched at the sudden motion, then turned with blue eyes wide in surprise.

“Sammy?” England addressed in a voice that matched the boy’s expression.

“S-Sir Kirkland! I was just-,” Sammy stuttered in an attempt to explain his reason for coming in a place where he surely didn’t belong.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” England gave the boy a warm smile, “But it’s good you’re here, I was wondering when you’d finally come around again.” Sammy’s features brightened; he had imagined the country to forget all about him, some lowly carriage driver, and expected to be reprimanded if ever seen on the site again. B


	2. Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are all the notes I have for what the rest of the fic was supposed to be like. If I remember right, the sequel which is mentioned in the notes was supposed to be from England's point of view and was about America being reborn and a new revolutionary war starting in modern times.

**Links:**

[ **https://janefriedman.com/character-interiority/** ](https://janefriedman.com/character-interiority/)

[ **https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Order_of_the_Black_Eagle** ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Order_of_the_Black_Eagle)

[ **https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Royal_Opera_House#The_second_theatre** ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Royal_Opera_House#The_second_theatre)

[ **http://hubpages.com/education/IrishSlangExplained** ](http://hubpages.com/education/IrishSlangExplained)

[ **http://www.netmums.com/coffeehouse/general-coffeehouse-chat-514/coffee-lounge-18/347938-scottish-slang-word-definition-all.html** ](http://www.netmums.com/coffeehouse/general-coffeehouse-chat-514/coffee-lounge-18/347938-scottish-slang-word-definition-all.html)

[ **http://irishpost.co.uk/your-guide-to-the-best-irish-slang-words-and-expressions/** ](http://irishpost.co.uk/your-guide-to-the-best-irish-slang-words-and-expressions/)

[ **http://septicscompanion.com/showcat.php?cat=thebody** ](http://septicscompanion.com/showcat.php?cat=thebody)

[ **http://www.macmillandictionary.com/us/thesaurus-category/american/words-used-to-describe-facial-expressions** ](http://www.macmillandictionary.com/us/thesaurus-category/american/words-used-to-describe-facial-expressions)

[ **http://www.dailywritingtips.com/100-words-for-facial-expressions/** ](http://www.dailywritingtips.com/100-words-for-facial-expressions/)

[ **http://www.learnenglish.de/culture/halloween.html** ](http://www.learnenglish.de/culture/halloween.html)

[ **http://www.picturebritain.com/2012/10/10britishhalloweentraditions.html** ](http://www.picturebritain.com/2012/10/10britishhalloweentraditions.html)

**Never Forget: Cheese Eating Surrender Monkeys**

#  Suum cuique

September 3rd 1783: Treaty of Parliament, United States is officially dissolved, George Washington is taken as a prisoner to set an example, sends many other revolutionary leaders into hiding, execution, or exile. America begins living in the “House of oppression” as Scotland calls it.

Quotes: 

  * “I don’t imagine they’ll let you back anytime soon, lad.” -Scotland
  * “You’re being ridiculous, America. Our human names are used so that other humans can address us in a political fashion. It’s only appropriate that people like us address each other properly as well.” -England in response to America asking to be called Alfred
  * “We’re going to be living with each other for a while, so we might as well try to get along…” -Alfred



September 22nd 1783: Proclamation of 1783, prevents colonists from moving westward, England himself is upset about the outcome and easily punches a hole through an antique table. Meanwhile Scotland and America have a meaningful chat. *The two early signs of America’s degradation is America grabs England so it “almost hurts” and England punches a hole through the table. Prussia is introduced, he talks to America and offers to start a war with England, which America  refuses  accepts.

October 31st 1783: Halloween, England somehow convinces America to join the people in their festivities. During a divination, Alfred’s stone is out of place which signals he will not live past the next twelve months (at this point he has seven months left) at which point he only frowns, suggesting he already knows of his impending doom. Holy Roman Empire gets into a fight. America and Prussia try to break Washington out of prison. Hijinks, John Bull, Apple Bobbing, Divination. Who’s there: England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, America, Prussia, Holy Rome, Sammy.  **Check phone on how to add in notebook portion.**

Quotes:

  * “America, go! I’ll distract them!” -Prussia
  * “No, Prussia, do you know what that’ll do to your foreign relations?” -America
  * “I don’t need any relation with that British snob (or german variation) It’s you I care about. You’re like family to me, I don’t see anything wrong with taking a hit for you.”
  * “It looks like you’re the type that gets into fights a lot, not that I’m complaining.” - America to Holy Rome
  * “I don’t want your help.” -Holy Rome
  * “How could you, America?” -England upon discovering (?)
  * “You say that, but obviously I couldn’t.” -America
  * “God kid, what’s your deal. Do you ever leave me alone?” -Scotland
  * “Big Brother, why are your eyes darker than mine?” -young england in a flashback.
  * “What are you on about? We both have green eyes.” -Scotland
  * “But yours are darker, I want mine to be like yours!” -Young england
  * “Ah well, come here England.(scotland pulls england into his lap) My eyes are a dark green, like the forest. Now tell me, what do you see?” -Scotland
  * “Trees, they’re all around us.” -England
  * “See? If my eyes are the color of the forest and yours are the color of emeralds than that’s not such a bad thing. I’ll tell ya, emeralds are a hell of a lot more useful than trees.” -Scotland
  * “ _Amerika,_ keep yourself calm. This anger and hatred, it’ll poison you. I don’t want to watch you become someone you’re not.” -Prussia
  * “But look at this-,” -America
  * “I know, it hurts, but this is war, remember that. Us countries just have to learn to let these things go.” -Prussia
  * “Let this go? You mean let them go? Prussia, these are my people, they were born under my care. Now just like how i was cared for, I have to care for them, I can’t just let them go. England always told me I was too linked to my people, if being hurt is why nations go numb then I can bear it. If I feel their pain than I can be closer to them, even from across the ocean. I can bear it for them.” -America
  * “ _Amerika,_ you can’t save everyone.” -Prussia
  * “No, but I sure as hell can try. Come on, we need to get started.” -America



November 2nd 1783: Washington is publicly hanged, he gives his  _ Farewell Address to the Army.  _ Last public hanging in Britain occurs a day later.

Quotes:

  * “To have a country such as yourself, I am proud to have called myself American.” -George Washington to America
  * “You were a great man, but you should’ve been greater.” America.
  * “Please, my country, my nation! Deliver this letter to our people.” -Washington
  * “George, I can’t!” -America
  * “I know they are holding you captive, but you will rise again! I believe in you, and when you do, you can give my farewell to our people.” -Washington



November 25th 1783: British soldiers continue to quarter in America and riots continue. Sammy dies of ague (malaria).

Quotes:

  * “And to see the look on his face...I don’t want to die Francis. Not if that’s what it’s going to do to him.” -America after Sammy’s untimely death.
  * “What are you on about _amerique?_ Who said you were going to die?” -France
  * America hesitated to find the right words, “France,” he gulped, “E-England is doing well, you know? He’s become stronger and, I doubt he’s noticed it, but I think he’s a couple inches taller as well.” -America
  * “Oh, _non, non, non, non_ , “ France slumped into his armchair, “ _non, amerique, cette ne peut pas etre qui se passe. Je suis desole, amerique, je suis si desole. (_ oh no, no, no, no,no, america, this can’t be happening. i’m sorry america,i’m so sorry) I should have helped you more. _”_ -France _(needs accents)_
  * “France, I didn’t come here to tell you that, no, I want you to deliver this letter for me. Please France, I won’t be able to go myself.” -America
  * “I’m hurt _Amerique,_ you told me because you thought it would hurt me the least. I may not have a strong influence in the New World now but there was a time that you and Mattheu were family to me. This breaks my heart.” -France



December 1st: Jaques Charles and Nicolas Roberts make first untethered ascension with gas hydrogen balloon in Paris. France kindly invites America, he also points out the the brothers’ relationship isn’t stable.

Quotes: 

  * “The relationship between you two is not stable,” France sighed, “Yes, he’s happy today, but what about tomorrow? What about every time you’re people do something that hurt his? He is more in tune with his countrymen, if I dare say, than the rest of us. At this point in time, he is a man who has lost everything and if he’s not blaming you for it, then he’s blaming himself.” -France
  * “You fought all those wars, dominated most of the world, and held onto _Amerique_ like he was the last p;erson on earth. _Angleterre,*_ your love is harsh. When will you realize that not everything is about domination.” -France
  * “Shut up!” -England
  * “ _Non,_ you need to hear this! If you were only hurting yourself than I would not say a thing, but you’re hurting _Amerique_ as well!” -France
  * “I don’t want to hear any more of it, France!” -England
  * “Listen! You say you love him and you say you’re doing him a favor, no? But Angletere,* you don’t knonw the difference between love and oppression!” - France
  * “I know dammit! I know. You just don’t get it do you, France? Everything you’ve said, I already know, but watching their back as they walk away is one of the scariest things I’ve ever experienced because I can’t even imagine living without them, my family, and especially America. I can’t let go of him.” -England



December 7th: Theater royal anniversary in Covent Garden, London. Britain kindly invites America. Scotland plants the idea in England’s head of America’s death but it, ironically, oblivious to it himself.

December 25th: America Celebrates a British Christmas, he wants to enjoy it best he can.

Quotes:

  * “Why won’t you dine with me, America?”
  * “England…”
  * “Are you still angry with me?” England blurted out. America pursed his lips.
  * “I’m trying, Iggy, I really am.” -Exchange between America and England over Christmas Dinner.



December 31st: Northern colonies join British anti-slavery movements creating more unity. America does not feel well this day. Suspicions in England arise.

January 1st 1784: America is bedridden. From this point onward he is just waiting to die.

Quotes: 

  * “I think Prussia would describe this feeling as _Weltschmerz._ Or something like that anyway, I was never any good at German.” -America



January 14th 1784: Treaty of Parliament is ratified by force in the states, America begins degrading much faster. America Receives a chance to go back to the colonies but refuses.

February 17th 1874: America and England go to China for new years’.

Quotes:

  * “I wonder where that expression came from, ‘it was right under my nose,’ I don’t think that’s right. We see the things under our noses, it should be above the nose. Far too often we go our whole lives without ever looking up to see the great things that shine just above us.” -Alfred
  * “Possibly, humans prefer that analogy because what’s above us is out of our reach, but when it’s below us then when, we fail to reach out to it, we have no one else to blame but ourselves.” -England
  * “Look at us,’ America chuckled, “talking about noses in such a serious manner. Is this really what we’ve become? -Alfred
  * ”Perhaps, but if this is all the, it’s not so bad. Don’t you think?” -England
  * “The fireworks have stopped, America.” -England (beginning of convo)



February 28th 1784: England imposes a state religion on colonists, claiming that their freedoms led to the revolution. 

Quotes: 

  * “Me? Selfish? I gave you everything!” -England
  * “And yet you were oblivious to my real needs! What I meant when I said I wasn’t your little brother anymore was that I grew up and you failed to realize it!” -America
  * “What a burden a bloodline is, to inherit the pride and capacities of another land. Many of his traits have leaked into my nature as well as the nature of my people. Relentlessly they cry. I have long since lost the ability to sleep. I hear them all throughout the nights declaring, “Freedom for the country, liberty and justice for all!” and I’m tired of it. In an odd way, I feel like a mother abandoning her children, it breaks my heart so much so that it brings me to tears nightly. Will England feel the same? I worry about him sometimes, but in all honesty, rather that worrying about his feelings my mind is more preoccupied with the feelings of the Americans. Fear, sorrow, anxiety, pain, I want to be there. That’s where I belong.” -Journal 



March 17th: America is still disagreeable, England hopes a little fun will cheer him up. Scotland arrives and America meets Ireland. America forces himself to eat with the others, however, it doesn’t turn out well and William  _ finally  _ tells England of his habits. I.E. only eating partial food, throwing it out of the window, being obviously sick, etc.

Quotes:

  * “Do you find me daft? I know what a dying nation looks like! I’ve seen many with my own two eyes!” -England responding to America’s secret.
  * “I feel like a fool for not noticing sooner.” -England
  * “I take back what I said before, about just being a piece of land without even a name tacked on it. As it turns out, I’m not even that anymore.” -America
  * “Lately, where I’ve tended to the rose bushes, there’s been scraps of meals lying with the soil, sir. I wasn’t sure who it was so daily, without fail, I had cleaned up the mess, but today I caught the perpetrator in the act! This morning I saw master Jones unceremoniously toss today’s breakfast over his balcony!” -Helena (servant girl)
  * “America, not eating? Seems unfathomable. Tell me, are you sure it was him?” -England
  * “Indeed I am, sir. Sure as I could be.” -Helena
  * “I have another disturbing event to report, Master Kirkland. The same night mister Jones had dined with you I encountered him coming out of the washroom only minutes after he had left the dining table. He looked awfully pale and distraught, like he had been struck with a vicious malaise, and upon seeing me he looked as if he was weary with an endless sense of guilt. But that all only lasted a moment for as soon as I’d seen it, it was wiped away from his composure. Master Kirkland, I feel that mister Jones might be suffering from an illness, one that does not simply disappear.” -William



June 14th 1784: Flag Day, America reflects on what his nation could have been. Describe in detail his flag and mention the revolutionary leaders fates’. He wonders briefly, “what went wrong?” but doesn’t elaborate.

Quotes:

  * “Isn’t it funny? When you’re at your wits end, you suddenly realize how unfair everything’s been.” -America



July 4th 1784: The last day America spends in this world. He collapses (enter place). England wishes to carry him back  **“home”** but is unable to do so due to the very little time America has left. America is unable to finish his last sentence.

Excerpt:

“Big Brother-,” America’s mouth moved to form words beyond that but no sound came out. When he realized this a look of stricken fear overtook his features. He frantically clutched at England’s clothing, using the little strength he had to try and pull himself upright, all the while frantically mouthing silence that England could not understand. “America what is it?” He cried between the tears running down his cheeks as he watched the child struggle in his last moments. He pulled America closer, trying to help him in his futile endeavor, “America, big brother is right here!” England sobbed, “What’s wrong? Just tell me, I can help! I’m big brother after all.” his voice shrunk. The place where America’s feet had laid had disappeared, he was quickly becoming nothing more than mere particles; an idea, if God would grant as much. 

  
  


Quotes: 

  * ‘“My strength and size combined with your centuries of experience?’ Alfred chuckled hoarsely. ‘No one will want to mess with you. Tell me, England, aren’t you happy?’” -America
  * “Your words are knives, America, if I’m cut don’t I bleed? Tell me, how can I be happy? I didn’t fight a war for you to leave me!” -England
  * “England, are you being honest? You’re not glad? I mean, you’re people-,” -America
  * “I can’t hear my people right now America! All I hear right now is you and me and, and,”-Sobbing England
  * “I see. (pause) I’m glad, but I wish I could say the same. All I ever hear is them, it’s a burden when I can’t save them from their pleas of help and anguish. They’re loud and obnoxious and very prideful but, will you love them anyway?”
  * “Look at us, if we keep talking like this I won’t get to say what I really want to. Listen, if I die tonight, I want you to hear me out.”
  * “But I’m not, Iggy.” -America
  * “How can this be? You’re just a colony!” -England
  * “No, before Jamestown, before Roanoke, I always knew what I would be. I just wish I knew what went wrong.”
  * “Thank you, England,” America said quietly, “For calling me America until the very end. Somehow, I think, you knew how important it was to me.” -America
  * “This just proves you were right. Your government was my government after all, and they dissolved me.” -America
  * “How can I be if I was never given a chance to exist?” -America
  * “Big Brother….”-America
  * He had always compared America’s eyes to sapphires, a precious stone, but no, that wasn’t right. As he looked upon his eyes, England realized that they were not only the exact shade of blue as the darkening sky in which those gems were fixed upon, and also the cerulean waters which he’d sailed upon for years. He saw the world in those eyes, blue like the planet from far, far away. (psst look up cerulean)
  * On July 4th, the sun truly faded, leaving behind a world void of blue.



(Enter Date): Traditional gathering of the nations to commemorate one’s passing. England picks white lilies from his garden in memory of America.

Quotes:

  * “So can you feel them?”
  * “Who?”
  * “His people.” There was a long silence.
  * “They’re angry, they want their nation back.” -Scotland and England’s exchange.
  * “If they’re anything like he was, he’ll be back. Have faith in his people.” -Scotland
  * “If I had to fight another war with him, I think I’d die.” -England
  * “yes, watching America’s back, clad in military uniform, certainly felt like a ghost from his past.”- narration
  * “I first met America on the battlefield-,” -France
  * “Are you short of mind? You met America when he was just a child,” -England
  * “Ah, _oui,_ but I mean his true form _._ Clad in blue uniform and with a dirtied face, the sun shone on him as if to guide his changing life. He was beautiful, _Angleterre._ He was young, yes, and scared, but was he incompetent? _Non,_ he looked familiar to the warring world, and maybe he was, just not with our technologies, no? I watched as little _Amerique_ guided his men to the afterlife with whispers of hope and promises to fulfill their unfinished business. _Amerique_ was no stranger to death, _Angleterre;_ he knew what knowing about his _repos éternel_ would’ve done to you and, because he could handle it, he chose to face hold the burden alone.” -France
  * “I’m horrible, France, to have allowed myself to become such an unreliable brother that he couldn’t even tell me he was dying. I just don’t know what to do with myself anymore.” -England
  * “He gave you a task, no? Take care of his people, it’s the most you can do for him now.” -France
  * “I should’ve let him win that war.”-England
  * “you’re right, but perhaps that’s my fault for spoiling you.” -Scotland
  * “What the hell are you on about?” -England
  * “I’m saying that I hate you and I can’t stand being around you, but by God do I have a heart. That idiotic promise, I honestly can’t believe I kept it, it’s not like it meant anything. I’ve let you have your way for far too long.” -Scotland
  * “Don’t you go saying this load of poppycock to me right now! You? Letting me have my way? Did you lose track of how many wars we’ve fought?” -England
  * “That just goes to show that I’ve been stuck to you for far too long. It’s time to finish what I’ve started.” -Scotland as a delegate enters
  * “Scotland, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” -England
  * “You’re vulnerable right now. The Kingdom of Prussia has declared war on you, not to mention you’re still recovering from the war in the Americas and knee deep in debt.***(check info) So I suggest you think this through. I want independence.” -Scotland.



Sequel Ending: 

America remembers what he truly wanted to say that day and as england daydreams about the past. England is so lost in his daydream he replies to America like nothing has changed then America finishes his sentence which is so surprising that england stares at him in surprise. They share a moment so silent that the only sound heard is the door closing as america leaves and the chirping of birds. 

“ England found it impossible to react immediately, America had said it so casually, so suddenly, that it almost felt like a dream”

England hated world meetings, they were so dull and much too peaceful, despite all the usual bickering. He missed the chaos simply because they reminded him of times long ago. He rested his cheek in the palm of his hand as he stared out the window, once he was lost in reminiscence there was no calling him back to modern times; his only thoughts dated back to the 17th century. Before he knew it the other world nations had packed their bags and left, all except one, which England of course, took no notice of and simply continued to stare into the distance. His green eyes tinted red as they reflected the setting sun. The man in the room sighed and stepped closer. “Britain,” he addressed at first but quickly found it useless; he took in a deep breath to try once more, “Hey, uh, big brother-,” “America, I told you not to call me that.” the Englishman replied upon reflex, turning and locking eyes with the other nation. “I love you.” America countered just as quickly. England stared in shock as his daydreams melted into reality. He found it impossible to react immediately, America had said it so casually, so suddenly, that it almost felt like a dream.” The room was engulfed in complete silence, so much so that the only sound that could be heard was the door shutting and footsteps steadily tapping away, down the marble hall as America left him to this revelation. The chirp of a bluebird just outside the window brought England out of his stupor, “America,” he whispered to the empty room with tears in his eyes, “So that’s what you were trying to say.”

Sequel notes:

  * “A mysterious man walks down the street, his wheat colored hair dim in the cloudy day. He walks opposite the direction of the crowd, at least to a point, with both hands in the pocket of his hoodie. There are many cries behind him as families run out of the skyscraper, presumably, it had caught fire. He stops and mingles in the crowd, turning slightly so his glasses caught a partial glare of what could be seen of the sunlight. HIs expression is almost unreadable, but the downward turned corners of his lips suggest determination. He faces the skyscraper, home of British trade. Smoothly, he pulls a cell phone out of his jacket; he dials a number, however, he doesn’t even bother putting the phone to his ear, the recipient has already picked up. A deafening crash is heard as a hundred stories come crumbling to earth. The fall of the British Empire is near.”



  * England thinks he’s dying but he’s not, it’s just because he’s rapidly losing so much land.
  * “Why is it you brothers always come to me for these things? I’m not the one you need!” -exasperated france
  * “He killed me!” -England
  * “And you killed him! No?” -France
  * “America’s best trait is that he is willing to do anything it takes for his people and his people are willing to do the same for him, but that’s only just part of what makes him scary.” -Officer to England (traitor?)
  * “You once said that we are too similar. Yes, it’s true, we are, only this time it’s you who doesn’t realize it.” -America to Prussia after being turned down.
  * “Looks like this is the end for me, America. how ironic is it that we have now switched places, ah, but of course you’re face is still as a stone. I suppose you really do hate me that much.” -England
  * “You’re not gonna die England.” -America
  * “America… I’m glad to hear you say that for me, but I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do.” -England
  * “No, England. You’re really not dying. Within the past few months you’ve lost most of your territories and you’re just taking the hit. You’re not dying, you’re weakening, ever thought of that? Now I’ll take you home so quit being so damn overdramatic.” -America
  * “We still can’t figure out why he’s gainins so much support, he just says the right thing at the right time. It’s almost like he can read their minds.” -officer
  * “He can...hear them?” -England
  * “It dawned on him, how had he n ot realized it sooner? How had he ben so oblivious to it until right this second, the fading voices. He had heard them so strongly when he had first inherited Alfred’s will. Had he really ignored them for so long? When was it that those shouting voices faded completely out of his head, when had he last heard their pleas for help? It sickened, him that he had failed so badly that he didn’t even notice when they left him.”
  * “My failure brought you back, that’s something. I know you’re fdifferent and you had to go through so much, but I’m still glad to see your face. With those eyes, those cerulean eyes, the color of this world. I never thought I’d see them again.” -England
  * “I admire this side to you America, but your refusal to accept my military help is more than insulting. Qhat if we put it this way then? You take this portion of land in order to prevent me from siding with Britain, that sounds more noble, does it not?” -Russia
  * “The meaning of freedom has changed for me, now it means no strings atttached. Even if I have to cut the ties with those whose feelings for I have brought into this life.” -america
  * “I thought you couldn’t remember anything from your past.” -Russia
  * “I remember what’s convenient, everything else is just a pain.” -America
  * “Oh, so that’s how it is.” -Russia



Extra notes:

Prussia never loses his land. When Prussia talks to America he offers to go to war with England for him but America refuses. Prussia only respects America’s wish because he knows what it’s like to be a big brother, however, no matter how much he sympathizes with England, America is his best friend and he won’t stand to see him hurt. After America dissolves he declares war on England immediately after attending the gathering and while England is still mourning. During the war Prussia dominates and keeps as much land as he can to become stronger against the British Empire. Later, he convinces France, who is hurt by America’s death but wishes to respect America’s wish to not fight, to join the battle against England. Years later when America is revived the three dominating powers are France, England, and Prussia who is still alive. Prussia’s first land to conquer was germania and so Germany was never given a chance to truly exist therefore WWII never took place and Prussia was never dissolved.

America asks prussia to finish off holy rome as prove of allegiance. Holy rome is only still alive by giving him a sovereign city. 

America doesn’t want to work with France because of the time before Napolean.


End file.
